


Privacy & Patience

by imamaryanne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-01
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-04 00:23:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 58,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/704346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imamaryanne/pseuds/imamaryanne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For nearly a year, Harry has managed to keep his relationship with Neville a secret from the rest of the wizarding world. But when he becomes the head Auror investigating a string of puzzling murders, he may have to put his obsessive need for privacy behind him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bugged

One morning less than a month since Neville had moved in to 12 Grimmauld Place with Harry, he came into the kitchen to find Harry eating breakfast and drinking coffee. Neville kissed Harry on the cheek. “Morning,” he said.  
  
“Morning,” Harry mumbled, not quite awake, having not finished his coffee. Neville smiled, he’d gotten used to Harry’s silent and grouchy manner in the morning and had quickly learned not to try to have any long conversations.  
  
Neville poured himself a cup of tea and sat across from Harry. “I have to be at work a little early today,” he said. “I have to meet this gardener about a new crop of mandrakes.”  
  
“Mmm-hmm,” Harry mumbled into his coffee cup. He took a deep swig, shook his head and seemed to wake up slightly. “Don’t forget your earmuffs,” he said.  
  
Neville smiled, “I keep them at the school.” He finished his tea and stood up. “I’d better get going.”  
  
Harry stood and faced his boyfriend and kissed him on the lips, “Have a good day,” he murmured, kissing him again. As he pulled back, he noticed something small on the wall opposite. He glanced quickly over Neville’s shoulder, but remained silent.  
  
Neville grabbed his cloak and walked climbed up the stairs with a quick, “Goodbye!”  
  
“Bye,” Harry called softly and distractedly, his eyes not leaving the bug scuttling along the wall. Harry went to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of pumpkin juice. He grabbed two glasses from the cupboard and filled one with juice. His eyes still on the bug, he drank the juice slowly. When the juice was gone, he put the glass in the sink. Then he picked up the second glass and tapped his wand lightly against it and transformed it into a glass jar, complete with lid. He put the jar upside down on top of the bug. He leaned down and glanced in at bug, frantically scurrying around and around. “What am I going to do with you?” he murmured.  
  
Working quickly, he slid the lid under the jar and fitted the lid snugly on the top. After thinking a moment, he used his wand to poke a few holes in the lid.  He took the jar with him up to his and Neville’s bedroom, where he got dressed, pulling on a clean shirt and trousers and his Auror robes over it.    
  
Harry was still thinking carefully, glancing over at the jar. He realized that he had to take her to magical law enforcement, but he decided to make a quick detour before getting there. Sighing, Harry picked up the jar and bounded down the stairs and out the door.  
  
Harry apparated to just outside the Hogwarts gate. Hagrid was just making his way out, “Harry!” he said happily. “What’re you doin’ here?”  
  
“Just some business,” Harry answered vaguely. “Is Professor McGonagall in?”  
  
“Far as I know,” Hagrid answered.  “Think she’s up in her office.”  
  
“Thanks,” Harry said. “Sorry to run, but...”  
  
“Right,” Hagrid said smiling. “I get it, ya got business.”  
  
Harry rushed up to the castle and walked through the front doors, unfortunately right as the students were on their way to the first class of the morning. He pretended not to notice that he was being stared at, often in awe, by the younger kids. It wasn’t just the Auror robes, it was that he had the most famous face in the whole wizarding world. He was fairly used to the attention by now, though he’d never grown to like it much.  
  
He got to McGonagall’s office before realizing he didn’t know the password to enter. He stood there stupidly, realizing he was an _Auror_ for Merlin’s sake. He should certainly know how to get into the office of the Hogwarts Headmistress. Thinking hard, he whispered “Dumbledore” to the gargoyles, and was pleasantly surprised when they sprung aside for him.  
  
He made his way up the stairs, knocking at the door at the top. “Come in,” Professor McGonagall called.  
  
He walked in, and Professor McGonagall smiled at him, “Potter. What brings you here?”  
  
“I...er....I think you might need to make your password more difficult to get in here,” he pointed out to her.  
  
She smiled and shook her head. “Oh Potter. The Gargoyles are under order to always let you in.”  
  
“So Dumbledore isn’t the password?”  
  
“Heavens, no. That would be a bit obvious.” She conjured a chair. “Have a seat.”  
  
Harry sat, and pulled the jar with the beetle in it out of his inner robe pocket. “I’m sorry to tell you this,” Harry said. “But I need to protect my home against animagi.”  
  
McGonagall looked surprised. “Why?”  
  
Harry pointed to the jar.  “That’s Rita Skeeter. I found her on my kitchen wall this morning.”  
  
McGonagall sighed. “How do you know that’s Rita Skeeter?”  
  
“I recognize her.”  
  
“But Rita Skeeter is not an animagus,” McGonagall said, confused.  
  
“She is,” Harry said. “Hermione figured it out in our fourth year.”  
  
McGonagall closed her eyes and touched her fingertips to her temples. “And it never occurred to you to _tell_ someone?”  
  
“I was fourteen. A lot of things never occurred to me then.”  
  
“All right. So let’s say this is, in fact, Rita Skeeter. Your house is still covered by the Fidelius charm. How did she get in? Who’s your secret keeper?”  
  
“Ginny Weasley is our secret keeper, but I’d assume _this_ got in on my robes, or on Neville’s.”  
  
McGonagall took the jar and glanced at the beetle. She took her wand and tapped the jar, “ _Homonum Revelio_ ,” she said. A transparent image of Rita Skeeter appeared above the jar. “Well,” McGonagall said, “It seems that you’re right, Potter.” She looked up at Harry. “What are we going to do?”  
  
“Well, _I_ am going home to put a protective charm on my home so no animagi can get in. I’m sorry it will mean no dinner invitations for you. I also need to reset the Fidelius charm as soon as possible. I think  _this_ ,” he tapped on the jar, “should be turned over to magical law enforcement.”  
  
“I’ll take care of it,” McGonagall said. “You go protect your home, go to work, and I will deal with the bug.”  
  
“Thank you, Professor.”  
  
“Potter. You haven’t been a student here for more than four years. You are an Auror. You can call me Minerva.”  
  
Harry smiled as he stood. “I’ll call stop calling you Professor when you stop calling me Potter.” He walked out the door to hear Professor McGonagall laughing lightly behind him.  
  
Later that day, Harry was filling out paperwork at his desk when an owl came tapping at his window. Harry got up and let the owl in. The parchment was sealed with a Hogwarts stamp. He opened it and found a short note,

  
  
_Potter,_

_Please stop by the castle before you go home today. I will update you on your bug problem._

_-Minerva_

  
  
Harry smiled at her name a little. No matter how much time passed, he doubted he would ever think of Professor McGonagall as Minerva.  
  
He left work a little early and apparated back to the castle, trying to time it so that he did not appear between classes as before. It worked, as he was alone in the front hall, his footsteps echoing loudly on the stone floor. He came to the gargoyles protecting the headmistress’ office and looked at them, waiting for them to spring aside. Realizing they were probably charmed to recognize his voice, he cleared his throat and said, “Hi there.”  
  
The gargoyles sprang aside, allowing him entry into the turning staircase, which Harry took to the top. He knocked on the door and entered after McGonagall said “Please come in.”  
  
“Potter, have a seat,” she said, conjuring another chair for him. “Would you like some tea?”  
  
“Thank you,” Harry said as he watched McGonagall pour tea and add a little milk.  
  
She handed him the tea and said, “So.”  
  
“So.” Harry said, taking a sip of tea.  
  
“Before I took that foul Skeeter woman to Magical Law Enforcement, she transfigured and I had a little talk with her.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” Harry asked, his stomach flipping slightly.  
  
“She filled me in on the nature of your and Longbottom’s relationship.”  
  
Harry stilled, the teacup raised halfway to his mouth. “Er...” he said, his face blushing brightly.  
  
“She’d been in your house for a couple days. She had quite a few, shall we say, prurient details that she seemed anxious to share with me.”  
  
Harry felt his face grow even warmer, remembering that his and Neville’s activities in bed the night prior had included Harry being blindfolded and handcuffed to the bed. “This isn’t public knowledge,” he finally managed to croak. “It’s not even private knowledge, really. Beyond me and Neville, and now you, I guess.”  
  
Before Harry could say anything, a drawling voice came from the wall, “Well, _some_ of us weren’t surprised.” Harry and McGonagall looked up to see Phineas Nigellus Black in his portrait rolling his eyes. “You should see the two of them going at it night after night, and the constant pawing at each other. Merlin, it’s a surprise they have time to do anything else.”  
  
Harry stood up and said hotly, “If I’d half a brain I would have left your portrait in Hermione’s handbag, rather than hang you back up on my wall.”  
  
“Oh, don’t get angry with me, wee Potter. I’ve kept your secret. I’m not the one sneaking in your house to catch you in the act. Merlin knows I’ve seen enough of it without sneaking around. You two are like wild rabbits, the way you go at it.”  
  
“Or rather,” spoke up Dumbledore, “they ‘go at it,’ as you so eloquently say, like two people in love.”  
  
Harry’s face was bright red, but he managed to look gratefully at Dumbledore’s portrait, who smiled kindly back at him.  
  
“Oh, yes, Dumbledore. Everything’s about _love_ to you, “ Phineas Nigellus said sarcastically.  
  
Dumbledore chuckled softly and nodded, not bothering to respond to Phineas Nigellus. Harry didn’t either, desperately wanting this conversation to be over already.  
  
When there was a few moments of silence, McGonagall turned back to Harry, her eyebrows raised. “Not even Weasley and Granger know?”  
  
Harry shook his head. “Ginny knows, but Ron and Hermione don’t. I don’t want this information out there,” he said vehemently. “I need my privacy, above all else. I need privacy. What am I going to do?”  
  
McGonagall smiled slightly. “Don’t worry. Skeeter won’t be telling anyone.”  
  
“How can you be sure?” Harry’s stomach was tied in knots.  
  
“Well, she tried to bribe me. Said that if I turned her in, she’d out you and Longbottom in the press. Instead I put a tongue-tying curse on her. She won’t be able to talk about you at all. Saying your name is physically impossible.”  
  
“She’s a writer. She doesn’t need to say my name to out me to the entire wizarding world.”  
  
“Don’t worry. I added a little extra - her hands can’t write about you without curling up on themselves, and nor can her quick-quotes quill.”  
  
“After I did that, I floo’ed her right to Magical Law Enforcement and turned her over. She’s been charged with Trespass and Failure to Register as an Animagus.”  
  
“What’ll happen to her?”  
  
McGonagall shrugged, “Probably a couple months in Azkaban and her memory will be modified so she doesn’t remember how to do an animagus. I spoke with Kingsley, and explained some things to him. He’s agreed that her memory will be modified so she remembers nothing about the last few days at your house.”  
  
“So no one ever has to know that I’m....” Harry drifted off, hoping McGonagall would understand. She merely looked at him, eyebrows raised slightly. He sighed, “...gay,” he finished miserably.  
  
“No. It’s up to you and Longbottom to decide who knows what and when.” She began shuffling some parchment on her desk, “But Potter, I’d like to remind you that both you and Longbottom are Gryffindors. I wouldn’t expect something as cowardly as hiding who you really are.”  
  
“It’s not cowardly,” Harry said vehemently. “I haven’t got an ounce of privacy anywhere except my home. Now I find out it’s been invaded and the fidelius charm has broken because that damn bug got in? I have to protect it all over again. And do you know I can barely walk into my office without being stopped and asked questions, not about my Auror work, but about being Harry and beating Voldemort. I just want something, just one thing that belongs to me only. Something that I don’t have to give an interview to The Prophet about.”  
  
“I understand,” McGonagall said. “I wouldn’t put a tongue-tying curse on someone for just anyone, Potter. I want you to rest easy that your secret is safe with me.”  
  
Harry was quiet for a moment, before standing up and leaning over and hugging her. “Thank you, Professor” he said.  
  
McGonagall was surprised by this show of affection. She patted Harry on the back, “You’re quite welcome, Potter.”


	2. The Visit

Neville knew it was probably odd, but he loved to watch Harry floss his teeth. Most wizards flossed simply by using Honeyduke’s Toothflossing stringmints. But not Harry. He insisted on flossing his teeth the muggle way. Despite Harry not having been entirely of the muggle world since he was eleven years old, and that his years as a muggle child hadn’t exactly been happy ones, there were a handful of things Harry refused to do with his wand, and insisted on doing the muggle way. Flossing was one, (“I don’t like the feeling of that stringmint moving around my mouth,” he’d told Neville with distaste), and serving food and drinks was another (“I’m afraid of dropping food and drink all over the floor. I don’t feel like I have enough control with a wand,”). Rather than find it odd (after all, unlike Harry, he’d grown up on stringmint) Neville loved watching Harry do anything the muggle way.   
  
Harry stepped out of the bathroom and pulled a shirt on. “What time is it?” he asked, buttoning up the shirt.   
  
Neville glanced at his pocket watch and said, “Almost six. When are Ron & Hermione getting here?”  
  
“Half six,” Harry answered.   
  
“Hmmm.” Neville said thoughtfully. “Hey, what if we told them about us tonight?”  
  
Harry paused, his shirt tucked halfway in and looked at Neville. “Er, no way.”  
  
“Come on,” Neville stood up and followed Harry around the room. “It’s been nearly a year already!”  
  
“And it’s been a great year,” Harry assured him and leaned in and kissed Neville on the lips. “I’m just not telling them.”  
  
“Not ever?”  
  
“Well, not now.”  
  
“When?” Neville pushed.   
  
“I don’t know. I’ll know when the time is right.”  
  
“Harry, there are literally five people who know about us. Me, you, McGonagall, Ginny and Gran. Skeeter used to know until she had her memory modified. How can your two best friends not know?”  
  
Harry sighed. “In what way is Ginny different than the rest of the Weasleys?”  
  
“Um,” Neville thought. “She the only one you’ve shagged?”  
  
Harry smiled. “True. But what I meant is that Ginny can keep a secret. It’s why she’s our fidelius charm secret-keeper.”  
  
“Ron wouldn’t tell.”  
  
“ _Ron_ wouldn’t tell. But he and Hermione would be out and about and would talk about it, and someone would overhear and then suddenly, I’m in the _Prophet_ even more often than I already am. Only this time, it’s not because I killed Voldemort, but because of who I want to have sex with. And I can’t stand it! I need my privacy.”  
  
“You realize that’s pretty far-fetched.”  
  
“Not really. Merlin, Neville. What if I hadn’t caught Rita Skeeter that day?”  
  
“But you did.”  
  
“We were so close to being outed. In a really embarrassing way.” Harry was leaned over the dresser, trying to tidy his hair.   
  
Neville came up behind him and leaned in, hugging him from behind. “It’s been ten months since Rita Skeeter, Harry, and the charm of your paranoia is getting old. The longer you wait, the angrier they’ll be that you haven’t told them, you know. The longer you wait, the more they’re going to keep trying to set you up with every single witch they know.”  
  
Harry met Neville’s eyes in the mirror. “I know. But just.....not tonight. Tonight is about one last dinner with Ron and Hermione before they have the baby. Let’s just wait a little longer to tell them about us.”  
  
Neville pulled back, “Fine,” he said with a sigh.  
  
They went down stairs and unlocked the floo and sat on opposite ends of the couch quietly, waiting for Ron and Hermione to appear. They didn’t have long to wait, as Ron’s lanky frame came climbing out of the fireplace, “Hey guys,” he said. Then turned around and assisted Hermione, unsteady from the weight of her pregnancy, out of the fireplace.   
  
Harry and Neville stood to greet Ron and Hermione, exclaiming over how big Hermione’s belly had grown in the month since they’d last seen her. Hermione looked pleased, but slightly embarrassed to have all this attention paid to her.   
  
They ate dinner in the dining room over candle light. It could have been like a double-date, except that Harry and Neville were conspicuously avoiding each other’s eyes and carefully avoided any contact.   
  
It was after dinner, when they were chatting in the parlour, that Hermione brought up Harry’s dating life. “There’s a new witch at work, Harry. I think you’d really like her.”  
  
“Not this, ‘Mione,” Harry moaned. “I don’t want to be set up.”  
  
“This girl is different,” Hermione insisted. “I know you were afraid of girls just liking you because you’re famous. But this girl is American. She knows of you, but hasn’t been inundated with the articles and coverage that we have.”  
  
“What’s an American doing working for the Ministry?” Harry wondered.  
  
“She’s just here on assignment,” Hermione explained. “The American department of Magic is trying to mimic a lot of what we have going over here. She’s studying our Ministry.”  
  
“Look,” Harry explained, “I know you’re trying to do me a favour, but I’m not going to go out with a girl who is just going to pick up and move back to America someday.”  
  
“Fine,” Hermione pouted a little. “What about you, Neville?”  
  
Neville jumped a little. “What about me what?”  
  
“Maybe you’d like this girl.”  
  
“No thanks,” Neville said happily, “I’m gay.”  
  
Harry turned toward Neville sharply and glared at him. Neither Ron nor Hermione noticed Harry’s reaction as they were too busy gaping at Neville.  
  
“You’re gay?” Ron asked in disbelief. “You like blokes?”  
  
“Yes,” Neville said mildly taking a sip of tea. He sat back in the couch and crossed his legs.  
  
“Huh,” Ron said, still looking slightly confused. He turned toward Harry, “Did you know this?”  
  
Harry stood up and began gathering teacups, “I live with the wanker,” he said. “Of course I knew it.”  
  
“‘Why’d you never tell us?” Hermione asked.   
  
“It’s not my business I guess,” Harry said, trying to keep his voice level.  
  
“Well, why’d you never tell us, Neville?”  
  
Neville shrugged, “Never came up, did it?” He sounded entirely too chipper, which only added to Harry’s annoyance.   
  
Hermione looked at Ron, “What about Dexter, in accounting?” she asked him.   
  
Ron shrugged, “What about him?”  
  
“He’s gay. Maybe we could set him up with Neville.”  
  
“No thanks,” Neville said. “I’m not on the market.”  
  
“Oooh,” Hermione eyes widened with excitement. “Who’re you seeing?”  
  
Harry stalked out of the room and to the kitchen to wash the tea cups. He could still hear the conversation between Neville and Hermione. “I’m not telling you that.” Neville said.   
  
“Come on...” Hermione needled him.   
  
“Nope,” Neville said mildly.  
  
“Do you know who it is, Harry?” Ron called in from the other room.   
  
Harry laid the teacup he was washing carefully in the sink, dried his hands on his pants and walked back into the room. “It’s none of my business,” he said, not exactly answering Ron’s question.   
  
“He’s not bringing blokes home for a shag?” Ron asked.   
  
“Could we not talk about Neville’s sex life?” Harry asked.   
  
“Harry, maybe you wouldn’t have trouble talking about the sex lives of others if you’d let me set you up.”  
  
Between Neville outing himself and Hermione’s insistence, Harry’s ire was raised. “Hermione,” he began, “I’m happy that you and Ron are together and married and starting a family. But that’s not everything for everyone. Maybe some of us don’t want that.”  
  
“She is a really nice and pretty girl,” Hermione insisted.   
  
“I said no, all right? I said no!” Harry snapped.   
  
Hermione realized she’d pushed him too far, and she shrank back into the couch. “Fine. I’ll drop it.” She crossed her arms in front of her bulging belly.   
  
There was an awkward silence, before Neville filled it by starting a story about teaching his students to milk bubo-tubers. They relaxed as they laughed, remembering their own days in Hogwarts, learning the same thing.   
  
When Ron and Hermione left, Hermione got tearful, “The next time we see you, Ron and I will be parents!”   
  
“She’s crying over everything now,” Ron said to Harry and Neville. “I think it’s the hormones.”  
  
They each kissed her on the cheek and said they’d be by as soon as she was up for visitors when the baby was born. Harry and Neville watched them step into the fireplace and zoom back to their house in central London.   
  
When they were gone, Harry locked the floo before he rounded on Neville, “You’re a right arse, you know that?”  
  
“What?” Neville said defensively. “I agreed not to say anything about us. I just told them about  me. I left you out of it.”  
  
“You’re really grasping at straws, Nev. You knew what I meant. And Hermione isn’t stupid. She’ll put two and two together and figure us out.”  
  
“Then tell her already.” Neville begged. Harry turned and started up the stairs. Neville followed him, “This is so stupid, Harry. All this hiding.”  
  
Harry got into their bedroom and turned to him, “It is not stupid,” he insisted. “I need my privacy here. Why can’t you respect that?” He yanked his shirt off and grabbed a night shirt.   
  
“Ha!” Neville said sarcastically. “You want me to respect what you need? What about me?”  
  
“What?” Harry asked, now pulling off his trousers and stalking into the bathroom to brush his teeth.   
  
Neville followed, “I want to go out with you Harry. Grab a drink at The Leaky together.”  
  
“Out? In public? Together?” Harry asked incredulously. “Do you know what kind of attention we’d receive?”  
  
“So? I love you, I want us to go out sometime.”  
  
“No.” Harry shook his head “No way. I can’t do that, Neville.”  
  
Neville turned back into the bedroom and grabbed pillows off the bed. “Fine. You don’t want to be with me in public? I don’t want to be with you in private. I’m going to sleep in MY room. You know, the room we have set up with my stuff to fool visitors into believing we don’t share a bed. I can’t even sleep in the same room with someone who’s so ashamed of me and of our relationship.”  
  
“Neville, don’t!” Harry called as Neville slammed the door behind him. Harry threw his toothbrush against the wall, “Damn!” he shouted. Then he kicked the cabinet hard and cursed even louder when his toe throbbed in response.   
  
He scooped up the toothbrush and began brushing his teeth. In his anger, he brushed too hard and scraped his gums until they bled. “Shit,” he murmured, rinsing the toothbrush off. He stared into the mirror for a moment, wondering what to do about Neville, before turning around and climbing into bed.  
  
He extinguished the lights and lay face up, staring into the darkness. When that didn’t help him fall asleep, he turned to the right, then to the left, trying to get comfortable. But the absence on the other side of the bed was too great. There were times when Neville had Hogwarts business to attend in the evenings and would stay at his quarters at the school. At those times, Harry knew Neville would be back in a day or two and he was fine sleeping alone. This was Neville being so angry that he didn’t want to even share the bed. Harry picked up his pillow and covered his face until his lungs burned. He pulled the pillow off gasping for air.   
  
He lay still for several moments more, wondering if Neville was going to come back. He’d never really seen Neville that angry before. He knew his insistence on privacy and secrecy had sometimes driven Neville a little buggy, but he hadn’t realized it had become such an issue. If Harry was honest with himself, he knew that Neville had every right to be angry. He probably needed to explain himself better to Neville, and then to give in a little on letting people, or at least Ron and Hermione, know about their relationship.   
  
Harry threw the covers off and stepped out of bed. He walked lightly to the hallway and pushed the other bedroom door open. Neville was lying in bed, his back toward the door. One lone candle next to the bed held the room in a pale yellow light.   
  
“Neville?” Harry asked gently.  
  
Neville sniffed, “What?” he said curtly. It was obvious he’d been crying.   
  
Harry walked to the bed and slid in behind Neville, spooning him from behind. Harry kissed Neville’s shoulder. “I’m not ashamed of you,” he promised.  
  
“Funny way of showing it,” Neville said.   
  
Harry sighed. “When we were in our fourth year, and I got selected to the Tri-Wizard tournament, I learned quite a lot. I learned all about public perception and how it can be cruel and twisted. Every single thing Rita Skeeter wrote about me was false. Same thing in our fifth year, when the Prophet was calling me a liar and crazy. The lies weren’t the worst part. The worst part is that what someone else writes about you is entirely out of your control.”  
  
Neville reached back and squeezed Harry’s hand. “I know all this,” he said softly.  
  
“So me not wanting people to know about us isn’t shame. I’m not ashamed to be gay, Neville, and I’m not ashamed to love you. It will kill me to see what they say about you in the Prophet. And we may be protected from anything Rita Skeeter can write, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t someone just like her who wants to write a good story and will suggest that you’ve slipped me love potion, or that we, I don’t know, have wild orgies in our Fidelius-protected home. Or that you aren’t fit to teach students.”  
  
“People aren’t really going to fall for it.”  
  
“But they will,” Harry promised. “I’ve been there. I know what it’s like. You will have people on your side, and you do your damn best to only surround yourself by those people. But there are some really gullible people out there. And you haven’t got a bit of control over it.”  
  
“I’m not asking you to stand in front of the wizarding world and declare your love for me,” Neville said softly. “It’s one thing to not go out in public, which I do want to do. But, blimey, Harry.” Neville sat up and turned to Harry. “Having to hide it from Ron and Hermione while we are in our own home? That’s absurd.”  
  
“I know,” Harry agreed, a bit reluctantly. “I know it is. I don’t want to do this to you, so I think we’ll tell them.”  
  
“Seriously?” Neville sounded as though he didn’t believe it.   
  
“Yeah,” Harry agreed. He leaned in and kissed Neville softly, running his fingers through Neville’s hair. “We should tell them. Next time we see them.”  
  
“Are you really going to?”  
  
“Yes, but I’m going to be sure to tell them how important our privacy is. Neville, I know you want to go out in public, but I’m not ready for that. If you want to go grab a drink at The Leaky, I want someone else there with us. I just...” Harry drifted off, “I just can’t risk being the focus of rumours and speculation for the Prophet again. People will find out eventually, I am sure. But I need to try to maintain control of this.”  
  
“But you will tell Ron & Hermione?” Neville asked.   
  
“We’ll tell them together. I promise.”  
  
Neville got quiet. “I can live with that.”  
  
Harry smiled, “Will you come back to bed, please?”  
  
“No. Lie here with me for a few minutes,” Neville asked. Harry lay down with him, his head resting on Neville’s shoulder. They quietly lay side by side for long enough that they both fell into a deep sleep. **  
**


	3. The truth comes out

Later that week, Ron didn’t show up for work in the Aurors office. Harry was just wondering where he was, when an owl zoomed in and dropped a piece of parchment on Harry’s desk. He opened it up and smiled to see Ron’s handwriting:

_Harry-_

_The baby decided to make an appearance a couple weeks earlier than anticipated. We have a girl, Rose. Baby and Hermione are both doing well. Please stop by this weekend, meet my new daughter._

_Ron._

****

Harry broke into a wide grin, he couldn’t stop staring at those last words of Ron’s, ‘my new daughter.’ It was a mind-blowing thought that Ron was a father. Harry had little experience with babies. His Godson, Teddy would stay at his house occasionally on weekends to give Andromeda a break, but Teddy was nearing six years old. He honestly felt excited to meet the newest little Weasley. He scratched out a quick note to Neville to let him know.

That weekend, Harry and Neville carefully prepared a steak and kidney pie, along with some biscuits to bring to Ron and Hermione. They also had a few packages, booties knitted by Neville’s Gran, and a singing book of magical nursery rhymes from Harry and Neville. They packaged the food and gifts carefully, and took the muggle bus to central London to Ron and Hermione’s house.

Ron let them in with a big smile on his face, "Come in," he said happily, hugging Harry and Neville in turn. "Rosie just finished eating, and she's still awake."

They walked into the living room, where Hermione was sitting on the couch, her legs in front of her on a footstool. She looked exhausted, but thoroughly happy. Rose was bundled in a white blanket and wearing a knit yellow hat, so only her tiny face peeked out. Harry leaned down and kissed Hermione on the cheek and said, “May I?” reaching for Rose.

“Sure,” Hermione handed the baby over, and took the gift parcels Harry was holding out to her.

Harry took her, astonished at how tiny and light she was. He smiled down at Rose, who blinked up at him. “Hi, Rosie,” Harry said. “I’m Harry. Your dad and I are going to teach you so many things your mom won’t like.”

Hermione laughed, “You’d better not,” she warned.

Harry looked down at Rose, “It’ll be our little secret,” he whispered, and Ron laughed in delight. Harry looked up at Ron, realizing that the smile hadn’t left Ron’s face since they’d been there. “She’s awesome,” Harry said to Ron.

Neville looked over Harry’s shoulder at Rose. Rose’s eyes briefly left Harry’s and she glanced in Neville’s direction before her mouth opened in a wide yawn and her eyes started to close. “Aw,” Neville said, “I’m boring her.”

“I’ll take her if she’s sleepy,” Hermione said, holding her arms out.

“Will she sleep ok in my arms?” Harry asked.

“If you want to hold her and she sleeps, that’s fine.” Hermione sounded relieved. “I haven’t gotten much sleep.”

“Should we go?” Harry asked.

“No. Stay,” Hermione insisted. “Ron and I want to ask you something.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry asked, somewhat distracted by Rose’s drooping eyes.

Ron sat next to Hermione and put his arm around her, “Harry,” he said seriously, “We wanted to ask if you’d be Rosie’s Godfather.”

Harry looked up and smiled, “Yeah!” he said, thrilled. “I love having Teddy as a Godson,” he looked down at Rose, “You’ll be my second!” he said quietly. He looked back up at Ron and Hermione, “Thanks.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said. “It’s nice to know she’ll be taken care of if anything happens to us.”

“Um,” Harry said, suddenly realizing there was some other reason he and Neville had come here. “I wanted to let you guys know something. I’m sort-of seeing someone. I have been for a while, but I’ve kept it a secret.”

“I knew it!” Ron crowed, he turned to Hermione. “I told you there was a witch Harry was keeping secret from us.” He turned back to Harry, “So who is she?”

“It’s not a witch,” Harry admitted quietly.

“Well,” Hermione tried to sound diplomatic, “A muggle girl might make more sense. You know about muggles, and she wouldn’t really know how famous you are.”

Harry nearly lost his nerve before saying, “It’s not a muggle girl.” Harry looked at both of them, and they looked absolutely confused. “I’m-” his voice caught for a moment. He closed his eyes and finished quickly. “I’m gay. And it’s Neville.”

He kept his eyes on a drifting Rose for the first few moments of silence, before looking up to peek at his two best friends, who were staring at him with astonished faces. He turned to Neville, sitting next to him on the couch, who was still watching Rosie and appeared to be entirely too relaxed for this conversation. “Guys?” Harry asked.

“Oh!” Hermione said.

“Well.” Ron said thoughtfully. “I wasn’t exactly expecting that.”

“No. Nor was I,” said Hermione.

Neither one said anything for a few moments, and Harry asked nervously, “Is this all right?”

“Of course,” Hermione stressed. “We’re just surprised is all,” she assured Harry. “We love you no matter what.”

“Blimey, Harry.” Ron said. “Is this something that happened since Neville moved in to your house, or did Neville move in because this happened?”

Harry shifted slightly, easily to not wake the sleeping baby. “Um. We’d been together for a few months and then he moved in.”

“So it’s been over a year?”

“Yes,” Harry said uncomfortably. “It was really important to me to keep it a secret.”

“Well, a secret is one thing. But from us?” Hermione said. Harry could tell she was upset, but was trying hard to be diplomatic.

Harry hesitated, but decided to tell them the entire truth, and stress his continued need for privacy. He explained what they already knew - how the press are able to cruelly twist words and intentions. That he trusted them, but was afraid of them even being overheard talking about him. He told them about Rita Skeeter getting into their house while a bug, and how McGonagall had helped to defuse the situation.

Ron laughed in delight at Skeeter having a tongue-tying curse on her, “Serves her right!” he said gleefully.

After his long explanations, both Ron and Hermione seemed to relax and to understand Harry’s viewpoint a little better. Hermione kept smiling at them. Ron remained...well, just like Ron. Though he did pointedly look away when Neville put his arm around Harry at one point.

Rose continued sleeping in Harry’s arms until Ron stood up and announced he was going to heat up dinner. “Come with me, Harry,” he said.

“I’ll hold the baby,” Neville said anxiously.

Harry gently lay baby Rose in Neville’s arms. Rose didn’t wake and Neville stared at the baby in awe.  “Merlin. You guys have a baby,” he whispered to Ron and Hermione.

Hermione scooted on the sofa next to Neville and they began to talk. Harry followed Ron into the kitchen. “Are you all right with this, Ron?” Harry asked. “Please tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I’m not angry, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m a little annoyed you kept it from us, but I guess I see where you’re coming from. I just...” Ron’s face reddened a little bit. “you’re still my best mate.”

“OK. You’re still mine,” Harry said, somewhat mystified.

Ron shrugged, “You’re seeing Neville now, it’s like he’s your best friend.”

Harry almost laughed at Ron, but decided he should probably take his concerns seriously. “I get it,” he nodded. “That year we spent chasing horcruxes, I felt so separate from you and Hermione. But it worked out fine, right? I’m still me, I’m still your friend. Neville’s just along for the ride now.”

Ron pulled the steak and kidney pie from the bag, “This looks delicious.”

Harry smiled, “Neville had the Hogwarts House Elves make it. We’re both rubbish at cooking, but Kreacher still works at Hogwarts and usually gives Neville dinner to bring home to me.”

“How sweet,” Ron said dryly. He pointed his wand at the pie and began heating it. “Hey, is this the reason you and Ginny had such a kind break-up?”

Harry began pulling glasses out of the cupboard and opened the ice box for butterbeers, plus one pumpkin juice for Hermione. “Yeah,” Harry said, surprised Ron was able to make the connection. “Once I stopped fighting the whole gay thing, I guess I became pretty obvious.”

“But weren’t you shagging her?”

“Of course I was,” Harry said. “Her seventh year of Hogwarts, I lent her my invisibility cloak and she’d sneak out of the castle and meet me in the shrieking shack.”

Ron laughed. “Really? She never told us that.”

“Yeah, then on Hogsmeade weekends, I’d meet her and we’d spend the whole day having sex in a room above the Hog’s Head.”

“Seriously?” Ron asked.

“We had loads of sex,” Harry assured him.

“You may be gay and my best mate,” Ron warned. “But she’s still my sister.”

Harry shrugged, smiling, “Well my point is that it took not quite enjoying all that sex to make me realize that I’m gay. One night we were in the middle of it, and it suddenly became so obvious to me that I was closing my eyes and picturing....er....someone else in place of Ginny. Once I realized it, I fought it for a bit, but then it was like, my eyes just opened up, and there were fantastic blokes everywhere.”

“So you dumped her.”

“Well, right after she graduated, we were having a pint at the Leaky and I staring at this security wizard who was really fit, and Ginny leans in real close and whispers, ‘Harry, do you think there might be a chance you’re gay?’”

“Ginny has never minced words,” Ron said agreeably, as he admired his work on re-heating the pie. Harry grabbed four plates and handed them off to Ron who began cutting and serving the pie.

“Never,” Harry agreed. “So we came back to Grimmauld Place and talked it through. She was not nearly as angry as I’d feared. And she was getting ready to start her first season with the Holyhead Harpies, so that gave us the perfect public breakup excuse.”

"So when did the thing with Neville happen?" Ron asked. 

“You want to know this?”

“Sure.”

“Well,” Harry began thinking back. “I didn’t know any gay wizards at all, so I didn’t really have anyone to talk to. And I began going out to gay muggle clubs, just to get laid. But you know, dating a muggle is opening a whole can of worms I didn’t want to get into.”

“Of course,” Ron agreed.

“I went to Holyhead to see one of Ginny’s matches, and was surprised that she’d also invited Neville. Last I’d heard, Neville was dating Hannah Abbott, so we were sitting together and I asked him how Hannah was, and he said they’d broken up. I asked why and he said he’s gay. I couldn’t tell him right then, because you know, people from the _Prophet_ were there. But I invited him back to my place after the match and.....”

“And you shagged him senseless,” Ron finished.

“We talked, too,” Harry said. “You know, you’re taking this much better than I thought you would.”

Ron shrugged, “Always look on the bright side, mate. I can stop trying to find single witches to set you up with and now you don’t have to hear Hermione go on about it. Also, Hermione really wanted a couple to be Godparents for Rosie rather than a single bloke, no offense. I fought for you, and now we can both be happy.”

“She’s really beautiful, Ron.”

Ron expertly levitated the plates with his wand and smiled. “I had no idea how amazing being a dad would make me feel. I love her so much already. I don’t even know how to put it into words.”

After dinner, Harry and Neville apparated back to their house on Grimmauld Place. As they stood on the front stoop, Harry looked out, “Can you believe we’re standing here and all those muggles can’t even see us?”

“Yeah....” Neville said, not sure where Harry was going with this.

“We could have a shag right here and they’d never know it.”

“It’s kind of a small stoop,” Neville pointed out, but he was smiling. “Plus, there are quite a few people who know where we live and one could come by any second.”

“What are the chances of that?” Harry asked.

Neville looked around, “If we open the front door,” he said, thinking hard, “we could be partially in and partially out and there’d be enough room. But you’re the one so scared of being outed, and honestly someone we know could be by.”

Harry shrugged and leaned in to Neville, pulling him in for a kiss. “Telling Ron and Hermione has made me feel giddy and happy and free. And it makes me want to take you right here.”

“Hmm,” Neville said, his lips crashing in to Harry’s with force. He tilted his head back and gasped as Harry began sucking and biting his neck. “Well if telling people is going to get this reaction from you, I’m all for telling even more people.”

Harry laughed as he began unbuttoning Neville’s shirt, peppering his chest with kisses as each button opened. Harry pushed lightly on Neville’s chest so that his back was up against the door and kissed him hard, running his fingers through Neville’s soft curls. Neville wriggled his way out of his shirt and let it fall on the stoop. Harry sank his hips in to Neville’s and began grinding.

“Are we really doing this here?” Neville asked, sliding his hands along Harry’s back, and pulling Harry’s shirt up, untucking it from his trousers.

“What are the chances of someone who knows where we live stopping by at this exact time?” Harry asked, pulling his shirt over his head.

“Better than I’d like to fool with,” Neville admitted. He pulled back. “Look, Harry. This is super hot, but I have the feeling that we’d be caught.”

Harry leaned in and flicked his tongue over one of Neville’s nipples then biting a little, a move he knew to be one of Neville’s weaknesses. He stuck his hand down the front of Neville’s trousers, causing Neville to moan, “Seriously, let’s move this inside.”

Harry stepped back, “All right,” he said and opened the door. Neville went through first, Harry stepped in behind him, slamming the door then pulling Neville toward it and pushing him into it. “We’re in,” he said breathlessly. “Now get those trousers off.”

Neville smiled and stepped out of his trousers and boxer-briefs underneath. Harry stepped outof his, but immediately sank to his knees and took Neville into his mouth. Neville threw his head back, and it landed on the door with a solid 'thunk.' He couldn't even feel the pain of it, as he couldn't pay attention to anything but what Harry's mouth was doing. 

Neville shot up in anxiety when a knock came at the door. “Ignore it,” Harry murmured, “We’re busy.”

Before Neville could answer, a voice rang out from outside, “Harry! It’s Kingsley and we’ve got an emergency!”

Harry pulled off Neville with a loud pop, “Shit,” he said reaching for his trousers. He could barely pull the zipper up over his erection. Neville was struggling with the same thing.

The door knocked louder, “Harry!” the Minister called out.

Finally, figuring it was an emergency and Kingsley wasn’t likely to care, Harry just opened the door, shirtless, his trousers still unzipped. Neville was turned, back to the door, shirtless, and struggling with is zipper. “Hello, Minister,” he said.

Kingsley strode is, carrying Neville’s shirt. “This was on your stoop,” he said in his low, cool voice, his eyes sliding from Harry to Neville, his face impassive despite their obvious state of undress. “Harry, there’s been a murder in Hogsmeade. Madam Hooch is dead and I want you to be the Auror in charge of the investigation.”

 


	4. Investigation

Harry and Neville stood there stupidly for a few moments. “Madam Hooch?” Harry asked, unable to believe it. “Who would want to kill her?”

“We don’t know, and there isn’t much to go on from the look of things.”

“Let me go get dressed,” Harry said, turning and running up the stairs. “I’ll be right back.”

As Harry got into his bedroom, he took a deep cleansing breath. The fact that Kingsley obviously now knew about him and Neville no longer bothered him. He was all too aware of the fact that Madam Hooch, the person responsible for teaching him how to fly, the person responsible for refereeing his quidditch matches was _dead_. Not just dead, she’d been murdered. Madam Hooch had been a wonderful person, and it sickened Harry to think that someone out there wanted her dead.

Harry’s boxers were stuck to him slightly. He changed underpants and trousers, then pulled on a clean shirt before pulling his Auror robes on. He grabbed his shoes and his Auror bag, and headed back down the stairs.

Neville and Kingsley were seated in the living room silently. Neville’s face was still bright red as he slowly finished buttoning his shirt. His trousers, Harry noticed, were still conspicuously unzipped. Harry paused at the bottom of the stairs and sat to pull on his shoes and lace them up. Realizing that Kingsley had already figured them out, Harry barely hesitated before he walked over to Neville and kissed him goodbye. “I’ll see you later,” he said.

Neville kissed his back, “Be careful, Harry. I love you.”

“I’ll be careful,” Harry promised, “I love you too.”  He turned to Kingsley, “Shall we go, Minister?”

Kingsley stood and headed for the door. He turned to Harry, “I’ve closed all apparitions in to and out of Hogsmeade Village for the moment. I’ve created a portkey that is waiting for us around the block.”

“All right,” Harry agreed, following Kingsley out the door.

On the stoop, Kingsley paused before going down the steps, “Harry, about what I walked in on...”

“Don’t,” Harry said shortly. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

Kingsley looked at Harry appraisingly. “I think it’s impressive you’ve kept the _Prophet_ from finding out.”

“It’s been a lot of work and a lot of luck,” he admitted. “You helped by modifying Rita Skeeter’s memory last year when McGonagall turned her in.”

Kingsley nodded at the memory, “I was going to say the reason it’s impressive that the _Prophet_ hasn’t found out, is that you and Longbottom failed to do any type of search for wizards in the area before almost deciding to have sex on your front stoop.”

Harry’s face reddened as he gathered what Kingsley meant, “You were there under a disillusionment charm,” he said flatly.

Kingsley nodded, “Yes. It was the only way to get through all the muggles in the square,” he pointed out toward the square where a few muggle families were chatting, their children playing tag. Kingsley took out his wand and waved it over him and Harry. Harry felt the cool wet sensation of the disillusionment charm run from his head to his feet. Kingsley continued, “And it’s how we are going to get to the portkey.”

Once they were completely disillusioned, they began walking and Kingsley continued, “I’ve known you for eight years now, Potter. You have a good head on your shoulders and you’ve proven a fine Auror. But my advice to you is this - if you want to keep your sex life under wraps, you shouldn’t be undressing your boyfriend on your front stoop. That’s my advice and it’s all I’m going to say on the matter.”

“But you don’t care that I’m gay?”

“Not at all. And I quite like Longbottom as well.”

Harry nodded. “Tell me about Madam Hooch.”

Kingsley sighed, “You’ll see when we get there. I assume it’s a killing curse, but there is a mysterious note written on muggle paper. Turn down this alley, the portkey is at the back.”

Harry turned down a narrow alley between two buildings and went to the back. “What is it?”

“The dustbin lid on the ground there.”

Harry picked it up as Kingsley looked at his watch, “Another minute or two,” he said. They held silently on the lid for another minute before it began to glow and Harry felt the familiar pull as he was sucked through space.

He ended up on the main road of Hogsmeade Village. A handful of Ministry security wizards were there, huddled around something on the ground, which Harry assumed could only be Madam Hooch’s body, which lay only a few meters from the front door of the owl post office.

Harry recognized the elderly wizard who ran the post office, standing by the door, talking animatedly to one of the security wizards.

“Coming through,” Kingsley said, and the security wizards parted ways to allow Kingsley and Harry in. “I’ve got Auror Potter,” he said to the owl post office wizard. “He’ll want to talk to you.”

“Let me take a look first,” Harry said. “Has the body been moved?” he asked.

“No,” said one wizard. “Except to check for a pulse.”

“OK,” Harry murmured. He reached into his auror bag, which had been magically enhanced on the inside by Hermione. He took out a wizard camera and snapped a few photos. Madam Hooch was lying on her back, a look of surprise frozen on her face. On top of her chest lay a piece of paper, which had a note on it in green ink:

_Hints & Recipes......_

****

Harry frowned thoughtfully, “Does this ‘Hints and Recipes’ mean anything to anyone?” He looked up from Madam Hooch’s body.

“No,” the security wizards said, which was repeated by both Kingsley and the elderly postman.

“What’s that?” Harry pointed to a large box, about two meters from Madam Hooch’s head.

The elderly postman spoke up, “That is the parcel Madam Hooch had just picked up from me. They are new broomsticks, which had been gifted to the school to replace the worn out brooms.”

“May I open the package?” Harry asked.

“Certainly.”

Harry looked at the wooden box, which was nailed shut. It didn’t look tampered with at all. He pointed his wand at it, “Diffindo,” he said. The lid to the box blasted open. Harry peered inside. There were, in fact, about twenty-five broomsticks, all Cleansweep 15’s. These would definitely be an improvement over the old Shooting Stars that the school owned.

Harry pawed through the broomsticks and found a packing list and bill on parchment paper. The brooms were bought at Quality Quidditch Supplies, with a discount for a bulk order. The brooms had been bought by, Harry did a double-take, the Malfoy family.

“Is Lucius Malfoy still in Azkaban?” he asked Kingsley.

“Yes,” Kingsley answered, leaning over and looking at the slip. “But Draco and Narcissa have been using their money quite charitably without him.”

Harry looked suspiciously at the slip before turning to the postman. “Can you tell me what you saw?”

Before he could answer, a group of people came out of the Hog’s Head down the street. They looked curiously at the crowd that had gathered and started to walk toward them. “Keep them away, please.” Harry ordered one security guard. The guards stood shoulder to shoulder several feet in front of Madam Hooch’s body, so the crowd couldn’t get a view.

“What’s going on?” Harry heard one familiar voice say. He whipped his head around and saw Rita Skeeter trying to peek her face nosily around a security guard’s shoulder.

Harry turned to Kingsley and said quietly, “I need her gone from here, now. I don’t need her reporting on my investigation and mucking up all the information.”

Kingsley nodded and left Harry with the postman. He heard Kingsley say, “Miss Skeeter, if you would come with me.”

Harry turned toward the postman, “Are you the one who found the body?”

“Yes, sir.”

Harry pulled a book from his pack, along with his everlasting-ink quill. “Tell me what you saw,”

“Well, right about four o’clock, Madam Hooch came in. I had sent an owl her way to let her know that there was a big package here for her to pick up, and that I closed at six. She came in and was very happy, she told me that all the school brooms were in shambles, but that a generous benefactor had bought twenty-five brand new Clean Sweeps for the school. She was in a great mood over it.”

“Did she tell you who the benefactor was?”

“No.”

“Did she say she didn’t know who it was, or did she just not mention it?”

The postman thought for amoment, “It never came up.”

“That’s fine,” Harry said. “keep going.”

“Well, we chatted for about five minutes, mostly about broomsticks, then she left. She was using a levitating charm to take the box back to the castle. She couldn’t have been outside more than half a minute when I saw a flash of green and heard the box fall to the ground.”

"What did you do then?"

“Well, I ran outside and was shocked to see Madam Hooch lying on the road. I could tell straight away she was dead, I didn’t bother to check for a pulse. I know what that green light means. I looked up and down the street, but didn’t see anyone. So I came back in and called to the Ministry by floo. Within ten minutes the Minister was here.”

“Did anyone pass by in those ten minutes?” Harry asked.

“No,” he shook his head. “On a Sunday afternoon, not many shops are opened here. Mostly just me and the Hog’s Head.”

Harry carefully jotted down everything the man had said. “What’s your name?”

“Herbert Wayne, sir.”

“Thank you, Mr. Wayne. You’ve been very helpful.”

“Let me know if you need anything else.”

“I will,” Harry said as he kneeled down by Madam Hooch’s body. At that moment, Kingsley came back and kneeled down with Harry. Harry instinctively checked for a pulse, knowing that there would not be one. “We need to find the killing curse scar,” he murmured to Kingsley. “Are you certain the crowd is gone?”

“They are gone,” he assured Harry.

“Thanks,” Harry said. He lit with wand with a lumos and began carefully going through Madam Hooch’s hair, shining the wand light on her scalp. “Not here, the curse didn’t hit her in the head.”

Harry and Kingsley checked her neck, and finding no mark there, proceeded to unbutton Madam Hooch’s blouse. He looked around, checking for privacy, and seeing no one there opened her shirt. Right above Madam Hooch’s left breast, at the edge of her bra, was a dark green circle, the sure sign of a killing curse. Harry and Kingsley looked at each other and nodded.

Harry sighed, “You’re right, we don’t have much to go on. I’m going up to the castle to talk to Professor McGonagall, then I’m going to head out to Malfoy Manor to interrogate Draco and Narcissa.”

“Harry,” Kingsley began, “I know there is some bad blood between you and Draco. Please don’t let that cloud your judgement.”

“I won’t,” Harry promised. “It’s not even that promising a lead, but I really haven’t got anywhere else to start.”

“Did you want me to go with you to Hogwarts or to the Malfoys?”

“No. Why don’t you get the coroner to come get her.” Harry stared down at the lifeless body of Madam Hooch, and his throat caught. What a damn shame. “Who will notify her family?” Harry asked, suddenly aware that he knew nothing of Madam Hooch’s family.

“I’ll take care of it,” Kingsley said. “I sent my patronus to Minerva before I came to get you, so she should be in her office waiting for you.”

Harry and Kingsley bade each other good night with Harry promising to meet up with the Minister first thing in the morning to further discuss his investigation.

Harry plodded up to the castle, taking deep breaths to maintain a cool professional demeanor for just a little bit longer. The castle door was unlocked, so Harry walked right in. The lights had been mostly extinguished, so he had to light his wand tip with a lumos. He got to the gargoyle and simply said, “It’s me,” to them. The sprang aside immediately for his entry.

At the top of the stairs, he found Professor McGonagall’s door already open. He leaned his head in and realized she was sitting at her desk staring out the window into the dark night. “Professor,” Harry said,

McGonagall looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears. “Potter. Is it true about Madam Hooch?”

Harry nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“Do you have any clues?”

“Nothing helpful.” Harry reached into his bag and pulled out the note and handed it to McGonagall. “This was found on her body. Does this, ‘Hints & Recipes’ mean anything to you?”

McGonagall looked at it, her face puzzled. “It means nothing to me,” she said. She flipped the paper over, “What kind of parchment is this? I’ve never seen it before.”

“It’s muggle paper,” Harry said. “It’s plain notebook paper that any muggle school child would use.”  He tucked the paper back in his bag, and asked “Was Madam Hooch well-liked? No obvious enemies?”

“Good heavens, no. She had no enemies. Everyone on staff was very fond of Rolanda.”

“I don’t know anything about her family,” Harry said. “Kingsley is notifying them right now, but have you met them?”

“I have,” McGonagall nodded. “Her mother has passed away, but her father does occasionally attend quidditch matches here. Rolanda was an only child, no siblings.”

“Did Madam Hooch live here? Or did she go to another home at night?”

“She did both, much like Longbottom does. She has a room here where she stays when she is needed late at night or terribly early in the morning. But she shares a home with Gert Trelawney.”

Harry raised his eyebrows, “Trelawney?”

McGonagall nodded, “Yes.That is Sybil Trelawney’s first cousin.”

“Is Gert her roommate, or her spouse?”

“Spouse,” McGonagall answered.

Harry made a notation in his notebook. “I’ll talk to her tomorrow morning,” he mused to himself. He reached into his bag and pulled out the packing slip from Quality Quidditch Supplies. “Madam Hooch had been going to the owl post to pick up a parcel containing new brooms for the school when she was killed.” He handed the packing slip over to McGonagall. “Were you aware that that Malfoys were the benefactors providing the brooms?”

“I was very much aware,” McGonagall said. “With Lucius in jail, Narcissa and Draco are anxious to make amends to the community. They have provided Hogwarts with numerous supplies to assist in rebuilding so that we didn’t have to increase tuition for the students.” Harry was silent and he scratched his nose and made a quick note in his book. “Potter,” McGonagall said gently, “Please do not allow the fact that the Malfoy name is tangentially connected to this crime raise suspicion on Draco or his mother.”

Harry thought back to that night in the forest, the night that Narcissa lied to Voldemort about Harry being dead. Surely, there must have been some good in the Malfoy name. “I won’t,” he promised. “But I have little else to go on, so I will question them to make sure my investigation is as thorough as possible.” McGonagall nodded.

Harry asked a few more questions and got no further in coming up with a theory or suspect. She then directed him to Madam Hooch’s room in the castle.

Her quarters were on the ground floor, toward the back of the castle. Harry recognized it as being quite near the boys & girls quidditch showers. McGonagall used a key to open the door and held it open for Harry. She excused herself and left Harry to his investigation.

Investigating turned out to be quite easy. Madam Hooch obviously did not spend a lot of time here. Her quarters had the feeling of being temporary. The bed was neatly made, nothing even stored underneath it. The drawers were full of clothing, the closet contained two spare robes, one pair of shoes, a traveling cloak, and a broomstick. There were not even any pictures on the walls. The sink and shower in the bathroom were lined with toiletries and soaps, all of which were the same as the toiletries provided to the students. Cheap, no-frills toiletries.

The only thing that could have possibly been helpful was Madam Hooch’s planner and contact keeper. Harry flipped through quickly. Her calendar was filled with schedules for flying lessons, including several private lessons. (It had surprised Harry, a natural flyer, to learn from Neville that Madam Hooch had provided private lessons. Neville had them all through fifth year, before both he and Madam Hooch had decided flying just wasn’t his thing.) It being the end of May, there were no more quidditch games on her calendar. He flipped through the contacts list. Most of the witches & wizards he recognized by name, and none stood out as especially odd to see in her book.

Harry snapped the book shut and added it to his auror bag and exited the flat. McGonagall was waiting for him. Harry thanked McGonagall for her time and she walked him to the front door. He checked his pocket watch - it was nine o’clock at night and he was absolutely exhausted. But going to the Malfoys probably shouldn’t wait until tomorrow.

Harry walked in to Hogsmeade and attempted to apparate, before realizing that Kingsley hadn’t lifted the apparition barrier yet. He trudged through the village, noting the place Madam Hooch had died in front of the owl post office was now empty, the coroners having worked quickly. He was relieved that no one else seemed to meander by and see the body.

Harry walked about a mile past the village, where road became not much more than a brambly path, and apparated to just outside Malfoy Manor. He stood in front of the grand gate, unsure how to announce his presence. The M’s moulded into the wrought iron gate sprang to life and said, “Who is calling?”

“Harry Potter from the Aurors office.”

“One moment,” the gate said. About twenty seconds passed before the gate doors opened and Harry walked through. The last time he’d been here, his face had been swollen and he could barely see. This time he was able to noticed the grand stature of the house. While it was beautiful, there was something hauntingly lonely about it. The hedges were overgrown, and not much care seemed to have been taken to keep up the grand appearance of the place. He walked up the stairway and knocked quietly on the front door.

Narcissa opened the door and smiled at him. Harry noticed the smile didn’t travel to her eyes. “Mr. Potter,” she said formally. “What a surprise!”

“Hi,” Harry said nervously. “I’m here on some official business and I just need to ask you some questions.”

“Certainly,” Narcissa stood aside so Harry could enter. He followed her to the parlour, where Draco was sitting with Astoria Greengrass and her mother. “Please excuse us, Auror Potter. We had guests for dinner.”

Despite himself, Harry began to feel himself relaxing under Narcissa’s overly-polite demeanor. “I apologize for the late hour,” he said.

“What’s going on?” Draco sounded suspicious. “The Auror’s office hasn’t searched the manor in years and father is still in Azkaban.”

“This is something different,” Harry said. He reached into his bag and pulled out the packing slip and handed it to Narcissa. “You ordered new broomsticks for the school?”

“Yes,” Narcissa sounded honestly confused as she looked down at the parchment.

“Were you aware when they would be delivered?”

“No. When I went to Quality Quidditch Supplies, they said that an order that big would have to be placed with the Clean Sweep manufacturers. They gave me their word that they would have them delivered as quickly as possible.” She paused. “Did the brooms get there all right? Is something wrong with the brooms?” She sounded panicked, and Harry realized that her fear was that the brooms would have been cursed - and the blame would lie entirely on the Malfoys.

“The brooms are fine,” Harry assured her. He paused for a moment, “Madam Hooch was murdered just moments after picking up the package in Hogsmeade.”

Astoria Greengrass gasped. “What?”

All four of them looked stricken, horrified.

Harry pulled out the note that had been left at the scene and handed that to Narcissa. “Does this mean anything to you?”

She took the note and looked it over carefully, “Nothing,” she murmured and passed the note to Draco, then to both Greengrasses. All three of them concurred.

“So this ‘Hints and Recipes’ isn’t a death eater code?”

“No.” Narcissa said simply. “And I would tell you if it was.”

Harry nodded. He knew getting more information from the Malfoys had been a long shot, but there had been a little bit of hope. “Thank you for your time, I’m sorry to have bothered you."

Narcissa saw Harry to the front door. He shook her hand and she promised to owl him if she heard anything further.

Harry was partway down the path toward the gate when the front door opened, and Draco came running out, “Potter!” he called.

Harry turned around, “Yeah?”

“I just...” he trailed off. He looked embarrassed at having come running after Harry. “I’m sorry to hear about Madam Hooch.”

Harry nodded, “You and me both.”

“And, uh...thanks.” Draco mumbled.

“For what?”

Draco’s face went slightly pink, “For believing mother that we had nothing to do with it. We’re working hard to repay the wizarding world and not everyone would be so kind to former death eaters.”

Harry thought about Draco lying for him when they’d been captured. He thought about Narcissa lying for him in the forest. “I just want to find out who did this.” Harry said. “I would have gone to anyone whose name was on the packing slip.”

“No you wouldn’t have,” Draco said. He didn’t say it snidely or sarcastically. He was so matter-of-fact and Harry knew in his heart that Draco was correct. Truly he wouldn’t have gone to question someone who’d fought against Voldemort. Before Harry could say anything, Draco continued, “But it’s all right. I understand why you did.”

“Well,” Harry said awkwardly. “I appreciate you and your mother being so kind to me. And the brooms for the school. That’s a really thoughtful gesture.”

Malfoy’s mouth quirked into a small smile, and he bounced on the balls of his feet,  “I’d just like my children to be able to go to Hogwarts without feeling bad about their last name.”

“Children?” Harry asked.

“Mother and Mrs. Greengrass are inside planning what the muggles call a gunshot wedding for me and Astoria.”

Harry hid a smile. From the look on Malfoy’s face it, was obvious he was over the moon about becoming a father and itching to share the news. “Shotgun wedding,” he corrected. “And congratulations.”

Malfoy smiled slightly. “Right, well good luck with your investigation. And if the details start to seem a little, um, death-eatery, and you have questions about all that lot, mother and I will be able to help.”

“Thanks,” Harry said and raised his hand before turning and walking back through the gate. That conversation had been awkward, but Harry was glad Draco had begun it.

Harry apparated back home. He stood on the stoop for a moment before entering the house. “Neville!” he called, but there was no answer. Neville must have gone to notify his Gran, or possibly Ron and Hermione, about Madam Hooch’s death.

Harry walked down to the kitchen, getting angrier and angrier with every passing step. He’d done a good job in maintaining his professionalism for his job, but now that he was home where he was free to express himself openly, he found himself so far beyond sadness he’d reached anger. With tears falling from his eyes, and an ache at the base of his skull, Harry went to the kitchen and pulled out a stack of plates and glasses.

One by one he hurled each plate and glass into the wall breaking them into impossibly small pieces. As he threw each piece, he let out a loud scream with each one, “I”, he threw a plate, “WILL,” he threw another plate, “GET” he threw another one, “YOU!” and he flung the last plate against the wall. Then he started in on the glasses. He felt more and more satisfied as each one cracked and shattered.

By the time Neville came rushing in to the kitchen, having just gotten out of the shower, Harry was openly sobbing. Neville ran over to him and sat him down at the table. Neville pointed his wand to the pieces of broken glass and ceramic on the floor, “Reparo,” he said. The plates and glasses magically fixed themselves.

Neville knelt on the floor in front of Harry and lay his head on Harry’s lap. “It’s OK. Let it out,” he said in a calming voice. It was the same voice he used when Harry would wake up sweating and crying from nightmares featuring Voldemort’s face, and flashes of green, and the dead faces of Sirius and Remus.

Harry cried for several more minutes before calming down a little. “She had a dad, and a wife, and co-workers who loved her. She had hundreds of students who adored her. Nearly every witch and wizard in Britain who’s any good at flying a broom can thank Madam Hooch. And somebody robbed the world of that.” He started crying again.

“It’s not fair,” Neville agreed, tears springing to his own eyes. He was pants at flying, but it hadn’t been for a lack of trying on Madam Hooch’s part. She’d tried her best and never lost patience with him. “This is why you became an Auror, Harry. To make sure people who do this don’t get away with it.”

Harry clenched his jaw, “They won’t. I will not let them get away with this.”

“Good,” Neville said. “Now let’s go to bed. You’re probably going to have a long day ahead of you tomorrow. You might as well try to be well-rested.”

Harry nodded in agreement. And he grabbed Neville’s hand and held on to it the entire way up the stairs into their bedroom.  


	5. Sincerest Hip

The following morning, Harry was beaten to the Ministry only by Kingsley. Kingsley looked awful and Harry noticed he hadn’t changed his clothes. 

“Harry,” Kingsley looked up at him. “ _The Prophet_ wants a statement. I told them we would try to get it to them before they print the morning edition.”

Harry sighed, “I haven’t got much to tell them,” he said honestly, and he filled Kingsley in on his interviews with McGonagall and the Malfoys. 

“We’ll make it vague then,” Kingsley said. He pulled out piece of official Ministry parchment and a quill. He thought for a moment then read out loud what he was writing, “The Ministry has Aurors working on the murder of Madam Rolanda Hooch. The Aurors office is in the process of conducting interviews to determine who is responsible for this crime. The wizarding world has the guarantee of the Ministry that we are working round the clock to solve this. Anyone with any information regarding the murder is encouraged to contact the Aurors office.”

Kingsley read over it and gave it his stamp of approval. He got his owl out of the cage in the corner and tied it to the owl’s leg. “The offices of _The Prophet_ ,” he told the large brown bird. The owl swooped away. 

“Did you talk to Mr. Hooch and Gert Trelawney last night?” Harry inquired. 

Kingsley nodded, “I did. Gert ended up staying last night at Mr. Hooch’s home. They are both heartbroken and didn’t want to be alone. I told them to expect you this morning.” Kinglsey pulled out his pocket watch, “Though it is not even six in the morning. I don’t think they’d appreciate you coming this early.”

“It’s OK,” Harry said. “I’m going to my office to try and figure out this ‘Hints & Recipes’ clue.” He pulled the note out of his bag and looked at it again. “You know,” he said to Kingsley, “The most fearful part of this note is the elipses at the end. I think it means there is more to come.”

“We’ll catch whoever is doing this, Harry.” Kingsley assured him. 

“Hopefully before they can kill anyone else.”

Harry spent the next few hours in his office staring at the note. He tried rearranging the letters to see if there were clues to be found that way. He devoted an entire page in his notebook to them.

_Heretics & Spin  
Phrenetic & Sis  
Enriches & Spit  
Enriches & Tips  
Enriches & Pits  
Sincerest & Hip  
Precise & Thins  
Niche & Priest  
Inches & Tripe  
Inches & Sprite  
Ethnic & Spires  
Richest & Pine  
Ethnic & Sniper  
Inspects & Hire  
Insect & Perish_

The list went on. The more Harry looked at it, the more anagrams he saw and the less sense the note made. He thought about Ron, who was unusually good at figuring out code, and considered owling him with his thoughts. But he decided against it. After all, Ron was taking the usual two week time of leave to be home with his new daughter. 

He looked at his pocket watch, it was nearly nine o’clock. He’d be able to talk to Gert Trelawny and Mr. Hooch by now. As he was leaving his office, he ran in to Auror Jeffers, who was the head Auror. “Jeffers,” Harry asked. “I’m trying to possibly work out a code in this note left on the body in the Hooch case. Weasley is out, is there another Auror you think could work out a code?”

Jeffers thought for a moment, “Try Sammitt. She did wonderfully in codes in training.”

“Right, thanks.”

“Potter, I’m glad you’re reaching out for help. This Hooch case is going to be big news. I’m allowing you to use the full strength of the Auror department if you need it.”

“Thank you.” Harry nodded. “I’ll keep you updated and let you know if I need help.”

Harry took the lifts to the Ministry floos. The address Kingsley gave him was just south of Kent. There was a small wizarding community, which had set up a public floo and disillusioned it so as not to be noticed by muggles. Harry flooed there, then set out on foot to Mr. Hooch’s home. 

Mr. Hooch lived in a small cottage, the path of which was lined by gardens of deep green plants which Harry couldn’t identify. It made him think of Neville, now at Hogwarts having to deal with grieving students. 

Harry knocked on the door, and it was answered by an man who appeared to be in his seventies. 

“Mr. Hooch?” Harry asked.

“I’m Bertram Hooch,” he stuck out his hand, and Harry shook it. 

“Auror Harry Potter,” he introduced himself. “I’ve been put in charge of the investigation.”

“Of course. I know who you are,” Mr. Hooch stood aside and let Harry in the house. “Minister Shacklebolt spoke very highly of you.”

“Thank you,” Harry said, stepping in to the house behind Mr. Hooch. “Before we start, I wanted to offer you my deepest condolences. I liked Madam Hooch quite a bit. She was an excellent flying instructor and one of my favorite staff members at Hogwarts.”

“She spoke very highly of your flying abilities, Mr. Potter,” came a woman’s voice from behind him. He turned to see who could only be Gert Trelawney coming in from the kitchen, bearing a tray containing a kettle and three tea cups. 

Harry had been expecting someone like Sybil Trelawney. He couldn’t have been more wrong. Where Professor Trelawney was tall and willowy and favoured extravagant robes with a lot of necklaces and glasses that had the disturbing effect of making her already large eyes even larger, her cousin Gert was short and stout, and was wearing plain black robes. There was no jewelry on her, other than a small gold band on her left pinky finger. Her brown hair was cut in a simple pageboy, and her glasses were frameless. Gert was, in essence, everything that Sybil was not. 

Gert set the tray on the coffee table and Harry reached over and shook her hand. “I’m pleased to meet you Ms. Trelawney.”

“Call me Gert.”

“Thank you. I want to offer my condolences to you as well.”

“Thank you,” she said, tears springing to her eyes. “Please have a seat.”

Harry sat down and conjured a handkerchief and handed it to Gert. She smiled sadly at him and used it to wipe her eyes. Harry was sitting on the couch, Gert and Mr. Hooch had taken the chairs facing him. Gert began pouring tea. 

Harry wasn’t sure where to begin. He’d been an Auror for about four years now, but this was his first murder investigation. He was nervous about interviewing the family. 

“The person responsible for Madam Hooch’s death,” Harry began, “left this note on her body.” He reached into his bag and pulled the note from it. He handed it to Gert, who read it and got a confused expression. Gert handed it to Mr. Hooch, who had much the same reaction. “Does this mean anything to you?”

“No,” they both answered at once. 

Harry pulled out his notebook and showed them the work he’d done anagramming the phrase ‘hints & recipes,’ “I did a little anagramming,” he explained. “Would any of these have any meaning to you?”

Gert shrugged and shook her head, but Bertram said, “Maybe....”

“Which one?” Harry asked. 

“Well, ‘Sincerest & Hip.’ When Rolanda played for the Harpies thirty years back, her Quidditch career was cut short by a bludger to the hip. The healer who helped fix her up had the last name Sincere. She had a real screwy name, I think it was Serenity Sincere. Seems like a long shot, and could just be a coincidence.”

Harry picked up his quill and made a notation, “I’ll look into it anyway,” he promised. “At this point, I’m willing to check out even minor coincidences.”

“Did Madam Hooch have any enemies?”

“None.” Said Mr. Hooch firmly. 

“Absolutely none,” Gert agreed. “She...she...” Gert began crying earnestly. “Everyone liked her. Our neighbors, my family, her co-workers. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to kill her.”

“Did she have any contact with former death eaters?”

“Only as much as their children being at Hogwarts. But she would never treat any of the children badly because of who their parents were.”

Harry nodded, “I agree she wouldn’t.”

He turned to Mr. Hooch. “I apologize if this is too personal,” he said, “But what about the Hooch family finances? Is there anyone who would be trying to gain gold?”

“We aren’t hurting for gold,” he said. “But certainly there are wizards richer than we are. When Rolanda and Gert here got married, it was before my wife passed, but Rolanda had taken her part of the Hooch gold and opened a joint vault at Gringotts with Gert. Just like any couple would.”

“It’s one of the smaller vaults,” Gert said. “She was a flying instructor at Hogwarts and I work as a seamstress. We live very simply.” 

“If we were to go to Gringotts, would you be able to verify that everything that is supposed to be in the vault is still there?”

“Absolutely,” Gert said. “I was always a bit more organized than Rolanda, so I kept the vault records.”

“Thank you,” Harry said. “Ms. Trelawney, you said you are a seamstress. Do you own a shop, or do you work out of your home?” 

“I own a shop in the village here. Rolanda and I live - lived- in the flat above it.”

“Did you employ anyone?”

“No. It was just me.”

“Were there any customers who seemed...” Harry paused, “very interested in you?”

Gert looked confused. “You mean like how?”

“I’m sorry,” Harry blushed a little. “I just need to cover this from all angles, because I haven’t got much else to go on. I have to consider that this could be, like, a love triangle thing.”

“Oh!” Gert sounded surprised. “No, nothing like that. Rolanda and I were very happy together and none of the ladies I know through the shop seemed especially interested.”

“How about gentlemen?”

“Well, they’d be barking up the wrong tree then, wouldn’t they? I’m a lesbian and I’ve not been shy about it, no matter what people think of it these days.”

“What do you mean, ‘what people think of it’?” Harry asked, curiously. 

“Well, you know,” Gert waved her hand dismissively. “The ideas people have about gays now.”

“I...uh. I’m sorry,” Harry said. “I don’t understand.”

“Well, it wasn’t so bad for me and Rolanda, see. Since we’re past the age of having children. But since the war left so many wizards dead, there’s been pressure on witches and wizards to start having babies. So there’s this idea that the gay wizards aren’t doing their part to repopulate the wizard population.”

“I didn’t realize that.” Harry said, his stomach dropping. 

“Psssh,” Mr. Hooch said angrily. “Buncha idiots, the lot of them. There’s no population problem. It’ll all smooth out over the next generation or two, especially with the post-war baby boom that’s just begun. And it won’t make a lick of difference that a small percentage of the witches and wizards are gay. What would they have the gay folks do? Marry someone they can’t truly love? It’s just an excuse for bigotry.”

“Right?” Gert agreed angrily. 

They’d gotten a little off topic. Harry made a quick notation in his book. “Is there anything else you can think of that might help me?” he asked. “Did anything seem weird or off to you recently? Did you see anything odd?”

Both Gert and Mr. Hooch quieted down, thinking hard. Finally Gert said, “No.”

“Neither did I.”

Harry shut his book. “Thank you for your help. I’ll keep in touch as my investigation goes further. But I would like you to come to Gringotts with me sometime soon.”

“I can go now,” Mr. Hooch offered. 

“So can I,” Gert said. “I’ve closed the shop for the next few days.”

“Excellent,” Harry said. And together they went off to Diagon Alley.

…. 

Later that day, Harry was sitting in his office, thinking hard. The trip to Gringotts had been a bust. Both Gert and Mr. Hooch confirmed that everything in their vaults was exactly where it was supposed to have been. 

He got up and went down the hall to Sammitt’s office. “Sammy?” he asked. 

Samantha “Sammy” Sammitt turned her head and smiled. “Hi Potter. Jeffers told me you might need my help with the Hooch case.”

“He said you did great at breaking codes in training.” Harry pulled the note out of his bag, “This is the note that was found on Madam Hooch’s body. I anagrammed it and couldn’t really figure anything out.” Harry showed her the page of anagrams, and explained what Mr. Hooch had mentioned about Madam Hooch’s hip. “It seemed like a long shot, and it was. Serenity Sincere passed away a dozen years ago. There’s no way she’d have anything to do with this.”

Sammy glanced at the note and rolled her eyes, “Well, you missed out on dozens of other anagrams, including the fact that you might need to spell out ‘and’ instead of using the ampersand.”

“Oh,” Harry said, feeling quite stupid. 

Sammy smiled at him widely, and Harry had the uncomfortable feeling he was being flirted with. “Don’t worry, Potter,” she said “I’ll keep working on it. Jeffers told me this takes priority.” 

“Thanks, Sammy.” Harry said, backing away from her desk. “Keep me updated on how it’s going.”

“Will do,” Sammy nodded, her face already buried in a scroll of parchment where she was furiously anagramming away.


	6. Neville's quarters

********

When Harry arrived home from work that evening, he found a note from Neville on the table.

****

_Harry - I will be working late. McGonagall is having a memorial for Hooch in the Great Hall at eight o’clock. Please come if you get home in time._

_Love,_

_Neville_

******  
  
**

Harry glanced at his watch. It was just after seven. He decided he’d grab a bite to eat and then head to Hogwarts, not so much for the memorial -because his brain already hurt from thinking about Madam Hooch’s murder so much already- but for Neville’s company.

****

Harry opened the ice box and looked at the food in there. He realized that his stomach was clenched so tightly into knots that eating was the last thing he felt like doing. He closed his eyes and tried to take some calming breaths to get his stomach to relax. Hermione had taught Harry about the importance of calming breaths at one point when Harry had admitted to frequent nightmares. The idea of it always seemed better than the actual practice of it.

****

Harry opened his eyes and poked at his gut a little. It still hurt too badly to consider putting food on top of it, despite the fact that he hadn’t eaten lunch and was starting to get woozy with hunger.

****

Harry went to the front stoop and apparated to Hogsmeade. The village was bustling, people hanging curiously around the owl post after having read the article in the _Prophet_.  He hurried by, hoping he wouldn’t be noticed. He managed to get by the crowds with only a few people looking curiously his way.

****

He hurried up to the castle and was surprised to find the doors locked. He leaned in and knocked loudly. After a few moments, Hagrid answered.

****

“Harry!” he said happily. “What are you doing here?”

****

“Er,” Harry said, “Neville told me that Professor McGonagall is having a memorial in the Great Hall. He said I should come.”

****

“Sure you should,” Hagrid agreed. “Tell me, are you having any luck with your investigation?”

****

“I wish,” Harry said, hoping Hagrid would stop asking questions. He didn’t really feel like talking about the investigation.

****

“No clue then?”

****

Harry shrugged, trying to change the subject. “When did McGonagall decide to to this memorial?” he asked.

****

“Just this morning. The students won’t be able to attend her funeral, all the way in Kent. So McGonagall decided to do this for them. It’s a right good idea, I tell you. Most of the students are just sick over this. Maybe it will give them some closure.”

****

“I hope so,” Harry said. He and Hagrid began walking toward the Great Hall. “There’s still a half hour until it starts. Can I do something to help?”

****

“Nah,” Hagrid said. “Let me set you up a place at the staff table though,” he offered.

****

“Is Neville in there?”

****

“Dunno,” Hagrid said, as they entered the Great Hall. They looked around, it was mostly empty, but for a handful of teachers moving the house tables. “We aren’t having the students seated by house table,” Hagrid explained. “This is a time for the whole school to come together as one, so we’re trying to figure out what to do with the tables.”

****

McGonagall came rushing up to them, “Potter, are you here about the investigation? Or for the memorial?”

****

“Memorial,” Harry answered. He noticed a look of disappointment cross McGonagall’s face, she’d obviously been hoping he’d come bearing good news.  “Neville told me about it, and said I could come.”

****

“Of course you’re more than welcome.”

****

“Can I help?” Harry asked.

****

“No. I think we’ve decided to vanish the tables all together and have the students sit in rows.” With a flick of her wand, McGonagall moved every single table so it was pushed against the wall. Another quick flick and rows of seats were in their place. Harry was impressed with her magic. Vanishing and conjuring objects had never been his strong suit, but Dumbledore and McGonagall had always made it appear so easy.

****

“Harry!”

****

Harry turned his head and smiled. Neville had just walked into the Great Hall.

****

“Hey,” Harry said. He felt somewhat awkward. He and Neville hadn’t been out together much, and Harry was painfully aware of trying to come off as more a friend than a lover toward Neville. “Thanks for telling me about this.”

****

“Sure,” Neville answered, he began to lean in toward Harry, then caught himself when Harry took a step back with wide eyes. Neville rocked back on his heels instead, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

****

Although Hagrid took no notice of this awkwardness, Professor McGonagall obviously did, as she cocked an eyebrow toward the two and rolled her eyes slightly as she looked away.

****

The students had begun filing in the Great Hall at that moment, so Harry, Neville, Hagrid and McGonagall started toward the staff table. Another quick flick of her wrist, and McGonagall had set another place at the staff table for Harry. It was at the end, next to Hagrid.

****

Harry took his seat, watching carefully as Neville took his seat toward the other end of the table. Neville caught his eye and they smiled at each other. It took several minutes for all the students to get in and situated. The staff table was mostly silent as they waited.

****

When everyone was in, Professor McGonagall got up and began speaking. She spoke about what a kind person Madam Hooch was, how she’d fought alongside the other teachers several years ago in the Battle for Hogwarts. That each and every one of them had been lucky to have had a person like Madam Hooch in their lives. Although McGonagall managed to maintain control of her voice, a few tears were leaking out of the corner of her eyes. Several students were crying, and Hagrid was mopping his face with his large handkerchief.

****

Harry looked down at Neville, who wasn’t even trying to wipe away the tears streaming down his face. Harry loved that about Neville. Neville was able to cry when he was sad, or upset, or even when he was angry. Harry, on the other hand, got upset and felt the need to throw things and scream before he was even able to cry. He shifted in his seat, suddenly feeling like he was a freak for not crying at this moment.

****

After McGonagall was through, Professor Vector stood and said some words. Harry hadn’t realized that she and Madam Hooch had been best friends since their own days at Hogwarts. Vector told some stories about Madam Hooch as a student, including one about her leading a contingent of students out of the castle at two in the morning for a pick-up game of quidditch. Hearing these stories made Harry smile, but it also reinforced to him the dire need to catch who had murdered her. It made him angry and tied his stomach in knots all over again to think about the humanity that had been wiped out, seemingly without a second thought.

****

One other professor spoke, then a seventh-year Gryffindor, who was the Captain of the Gryffindor quidditch team, spoke about what an honor it was to have learned to fly and properly play quidditch from Madam Hooch.

****

When the service was over, food appeared on the tables along the side of the great hall. The students got up somberly and began to pick it over. Neville came over to Harry. “Are you all right?” he asked.

****

“Yeah,” Harry nodded absent-mindedly.

****

“You looked angry while Professor Vector was speaking,” Neville said in his ear quietly.

****

“Well I am angry,” Harry said, just as quietly. “When Vector was talking, it made me really fucking angry that someone killed Madam Hooch.”

****

Neville nodded, “All right,” he said. “Do you want something to eat?”

****

“I can’t eat.” Harry said. “I haven’t been able to since this morning.”

****

Neville looked at Harry carefully. “Are you all right?” he asked for a second time.

****

“My stomach hurts.” Harry answered honestly. “Not like I’m going to throw up, but it’s just really painful and I can’t put food on it.”

****

Neville thought for a moment, “Come to the greenhouses with me.”

****

Harry followed him. They were silent on the walk down, and when they were a good distance from the castle, Neville gave Harry’s hand a quick squeeze. “Remembering to not touch you in front of people is stressful,” he said.

****

Harry didn’t answer, but squeezed Neville’s hand back before dropping it. They got to the greenhouses and Harry followed Neville around. They’d been together for a bit over a year, but Harry had never come to see Neville at work. He sometimes forgot how at-home Neville was with plants. It made him feel guilty that there was no space at 12 Grimmauld Place for Neville to grow any plants.

****

Neville kneeled down and rooted through some bright green leaves, sniffing and pulling a few leaves off one plant. “What’s that?” Harry asked.

****

“Mint,” Neville answered. “We’re going back to my quarters, and we’re going to have Kreacher brew you a cup of tea and put this mint in it. Then he’s going to make you some nice bland food for your stomach.”

****

“You’re taking care of me,” Harry smiled a little.

****

Neville, still kneeling, looked up at Harry. “You need it,” he said. “No offense, Harry, but you look like shit. You’ve only been on this investigation two days and I can already tell you haven’t been sleeping or eating.”

****

Harry kneeled down next to Neville and kissed him lightly on the lips. “I love you, even though you just said I look like shit.”

****

Neville laughed, “I love you too, even though you do look like shit.” He pulled Harry closer to him, deepening the kiss.

****

When Neville began kissing Harry on the neck, Harry hummed in pleasure. Then his eyes flung open and he said, “Kingsley!”

****

Neville stood up quickly, hand grabbing his wand, “What? Kingsley’s here?”

****

“No,” Harry said, standing up. “Sorry. I was just thinking about how Kingsley saw us a couple nights ago and it reminded me we shouldn’t do this in public.”

****

“Well he knocked first,” Neville said. “He didn’t really see anything.”

****

“I forgot to mention this to you,” Harry said. “Kingsley was disillusioned. He was standing right next to our front stoop the whole time.”

****

“I-” Neville started, then stopped. Even with nothing more than the pale moon light shining on his face, Harry could see the blush in Neville’s face rise. “Great. The Minister for Magic saw me snogging my boyfriend. The _Minister for Magic_ knows I like nipple play. Oh, this is just _fantastic_ isn’t it?”

****

“You see what I mean?” Harry asked. “Privacy.”

****

“What’d he say to you?”

****

Harry thought back, “Er, he said that he was surprised we’ve kept this a secret from the _Prophet_ for so long, since we didn’t check for anyone around before we started snogging. Oh, and he said that if we want to keep it a secret, we shouldn’t have sex on the front stoop.”

****

Neville snickered, “Now he tells us.”

****

“He also said,” Harry continued, “That he doesn’t care that I’m gay and that he quite likes you.”

****

“Huh,” Neville looked quite pleased at the compliment from the Minister. “Sometimes I’m still surprised that the Minister for Magic even knows who I am.”

****

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” Harry insisted.

****

Neville shrugged and held up the mint, “Let’s get back to my quarters and get you some tea.”

****

Harry had never been to Neville’s office or his quarters in the castle before. He wasn’t terribly surprised to walk in and see Neville’s office crowded with plants. There was Neville’s desk in the center of the room, which was clear of everything except seven stacks of parchment (one for each year, Harry assumed), but the handful of filing cabinets had nothing but plants on top of them, and below the one window was a large table filled with even more plants. Even lined up along the wall were more plants. “I can’t quite tell,” Harry said sarcastically, “Do you teach Herbology or something?”

****

“Ha-ha,” Neville said, pushing open the door at the back of the office.

****

Harry followed Neville in to what had to be the smallest flat he’d ever seen. There was Neville’s bed immediately opposite the door and pressed against one wall. At the foot of the bed was a dresser, and beyond that there was a small table with two chairs. A door at the far end led to a very small bathroom, with room for only a toilet, one small sink and a stand-up shower. “Hogwarts doesn’t do much in the way of Professor’s quarters, do they?”

****

Neville shrugged, “I’m the newest professor,” he explained. “I automatically get the smallest flat. But it doesn’t matter, does it? I only spend a few nights a month here.”

****

Harry looked around. The room was sparse, and not decorated at all. The only personal touches were three small framed photographs on top of the dresser. The first was a picture of Neville’s parents, holding baby Neville between them and waving madly out of the photo. The second was a picture of himself and Neville, taken one night by Neville’s gran. They’d been deep in conversation over dinner, and she’d completely surprised them with the camera. It was the third photo that shocked Harry the most. It was a photo of Harry with Teddy riding on his shoulders. “You have me and Teddy up here,” he smiled.

****

“Yeah,” Neville said as though it should be obvious. “I love that boy. I always look forward to our weekends with him.”

****

The knot that had been residing in Harry’s stomach began to loosen, and his whole body warmed up. He turned to Neville who was standing next to the bed, watching Harry look at the photos. Harry smiled as he took a few steps toward Neville and pushed him down on the bed. Harry sat astride Neville and kissed him deeply. “I love you,” he said. “You are just fantastic, you know?”

****

Neville laughed a little, “What brought this on?”

****

Harry nuzzled in to nip at Neville’s neck, “It’s even better that you don’t know why.”

****

“I was going to get you tea,” Neville said as Harry began frantically unbuttoning his pants.

****

“I don’t need it anymore,” Harry said. “I need you,” he urged further, “I need you naked right now.”

****

“Yes, sir,” Neville smirked as he pulled his trousers and underwear down. Harry got off the bed and removed his own clothes quickly.

****

Harry jumped back on the bed, right on top of Neville, sinking his hips into Neville’s. This felt good, it felt so right. Harry needed a release, some way to keep his stomach from collapsing in on itself, and at this moment, loving Neville felt like exactly the right thing.

****

With every touch and every stroke, Harry felt the tension in his body melt away. Neville was atop him, their cocks lined up with Neville stroking them both together, when Harry came with a shudder and a moan. He bucked his hips upward right as Neville also came.

****

When they were done and clean, they lay on the bed together with Neville spooning Harry. “Feel better?” Neville asked.

****

“Mmm-hmm,” Harry answered. “You know I always wanted to get laid at Hogwarts.”

****

Neville laughed, “Didn’t you though? With Ginny?”

****

“Nah,” Harry answered. “We didn’t until after the war.”

****

“Really?” Neville asked, “But you were with her most of the end of sixth year.”

****

“We snogged a bit, but we didn’t have a proper shag until the summer right after the war.” Harry turned around “You sound surprised.”

****

Neville shrugged, but smiled and wagged his eyebrows, “I got laid plenty in the room of requirement seventh year.”

****

“Oh really?” Harry asked. “And how was it?”

****

“I was seventeen. It was fine for me, but you know I was seventeen and gay, so it was probably not that great for Hannah.”

****

“Poor Hannah,” Harry said, starting to drift off. “Wake me well before classes start tomorrow morning,” he mumbled.

  
Neville may have answered, but Harry didn’t hear because he had fallen fast asleep. 


	7. Read your Prophet

_**** _

_Harry opened his eyes. It was so dark he couldn’t see a thing in front of him. He sat up and bumped his head on something. He grabbed his wand and did a quick lumos. He was no longer in Neville’s room at Hogwarts, he was now in the cupboard under the stairs at 4 Privet Drive. He wondered how he ended up there._

_An image of Madam Hooch appeared in front of him. She was on a broom and her robe was open in the front, revealing the killing curse scar on her chest. Harry reached out to her, but her image flew right through the door._

_Harry tried to open the door but it was locked. Then he heard a disembodied voice, the same one from the lifts at the Ministry of Magic, “Harry Potter. I’m the one you’re looking for.”_

_Harry reached for the doorknob again, but the door was just out of his reach. He took a step toward it, but the door moved just out of his reach. He took another step and the door moved again. No matter how many steps he took, the door was always just out of his reach._

_Deciding he’d run toward the door, Harry started to back up, but bumped into his bed and fell back on it. He looked around. Despite the door having moved several feet while he was trying to reach it, the cupboard hadn’t grown in size._

_“Who are you?” he called out._

_“I’m the one you’re looking for,” the disembodied voice said, with no hint of emotion._

_“Did you kill Madam Hooch?” Harry asked._

_“I did. I am the one you’re looking for. I’m just beyond the door. Open the door and you will see me.”_

_Harry reached for the door again, but it moved out of his reach. And again, and again. “Who are you?” he called out, starting to panic. What if he could never get the door opened?_

_“You know who I am. I’m the one you’re looking for.”_

_Harry started crying, “But who are you?”_

_There was no answer. Harry tried running toward the door, but it moved out of his reach. “Who are you?” he called again. “Who are you?” he shouted over and over._

****

“Harry! Wake up. Harry!” Harry gasped and sat straight up, his heart pounding in his chest. Neville was shining his wand in his face, looking worried.

Harry caught his breath, “It was just a dream,” he reassured Neville.

“Who was it this time?” Neville asked quietly. He always worried about the number of nightmares Harry had, always featuring the many faces of friends and family members he’d seen die.

“Madam Hooch,” Harry answered. “I was in my old cupboard and I couldn’t get out.”

“What do you mean, your old cupboard?”

“Where I slept when I was a kid. There was a cupboard under the stairs and it was my bedroom.”

Neville tilted his head, staring at Harry appraisingly. “Are you telling me, your muggle Aunt and Uncle had you sleeping in a cupboard instead of a proper bedroom?”

Harry nodded, “I’m sure I told you that.”

“No,” Neville shook his head. “I would have remembered. I remember other the other things you told me about, your cousin bullying you, and your Uncle telling people he sent you to a school for criminal kids, and them forcing you to cook and not talking to you for days.”

“Well, there was this cupboard under the stairs, and I slept on a mattress in the cupboard.”

“Did they lock you in?”

Harry hesitated, “Yes,” he finally answered. He didn’t want to lie to Neville, but admitting to having been locked in the cupboard would only make Neville pity him, and Harry couldn’t stand to be pitied. Neville reached toward him, and Harry stood up out of bed. “I need a drink of water,” he announced going in the tiny bathroom. Harry filled Neville’s cup with some water and took a deep drink before splashing a little water on his face. “What time is it?” he called to Neville.

“Three a.m.,” Neville answered.

Harry went back to the bedroom. “Look, the great hall opens at seven for breakfast and I want to be out of here well before that. Let’s just try to get a few more hours sleep.” He crawled back into bed and pulled the covers up.

Neville was still sitting. He looked down at Harry, who seemed determined to not talk about dreams or cupboards. Neville wondered if he should push it. “You sure you don’t want to talk about it?” he asked.

“Talk about what?” Harry asked him. “My dream or my cupboard?”

“Whichever.”

“The dream was just a dream. No point analyzing it. My cupboard was where I slept when I was a kid because my Aunt and Uncle were assholes. It was a long time ago, I don’t talk to them anymore, and I’m over it now.”

Neville continued looking at Harry, trying to gauge what Harry’s reaction would be if Neville pushed it further. Finally he said, “All right. Good night, try to get some sleep.” He leaned down, and gave Harry a quick kiss before settling in next to him.

Harry pretended to fall asleep quickly, but Neville stayed awake thinking more about Harry and his dreams and his childhood. Many months earlier, Neville had been looking for something in Harry’s desk and he’d come across a muggle book called _Overcoming Abuse: Becoming a Functioning Adult after a Cycle of Abuse_. Neville looked through it and realized it was a self-help book for adults who’d been abused as children and that the chapter titled _Neglect_ had been dog-eared with passages underlined. As much as Neville wanted to help Harry through whatever it was he was dealing with, he had to respect any boundaries Harry put up. So he put the book back in its place and never mentioned it to Harry.

He’d known that Harry had an unhappy childhood with the muggles, but it was rare that he’d go into detail about it. So Neville had always considered that Harry was unhappy, but he got to Hogwarts and became happy. That’s how it had been for him, after all. He knew his Gran loved him, but he had been terribly unhappy being unable to fill the role of talented son that she wanted filled. He’d become much happier at Hogwarts and finding his talents there. Until Nevile found the book, he never really considered that Harry had come from a highly abusive home rather than a sadly dysfunctional one. _Merlin’s pants_ , Neville thought, _who locks a little kid in a cupboard?_

Neville turned toward Harry, spooning him and pulling him closer. The way Harry moved, Neville could tell he was still awake. But they said nothing as they lay together in silence.

Harry was ready to leave Hogwarts by six in the morning. He and Neville carefully avoided the topic of Harry’s dream or his cupboard. “I’m running a study group for my fifth years this evening,” Neville told him as he got ready to shower. “It should go until about nine, so I’ll be home late.”

“OK,” Harry said. “I’m going with Kingsley to Madam Hooch’s funeral this afternoon. But I have so much work to do, I doubt I’ll be home much earlier than that.”

They kissed goodbye and Harry left. The castle corridors were pretty dark, so Harry lit his wand to help him along. He heard footsteps coming up behind him and he turned quickly. It was only McGonagall. “Potter, what are you doing here again?”

“I, uh, never left.” Harry explained. “I stayed here with Neville last night. Is that all right? We didn’t break any school policy?”

“Heavens, no. It’s just that you’re sneaking out of here rather early.”

“I have a lot of work to do,” he explained.

McGonagall eyed him for a moment, “Very well. I will see you this afternoon at the funeral.”

After Harry had gone home, showered and changed, he got back to the office early in the morning. He had a lot of paperwork to catch up on. With any investigation, forms needed to be filled out detailing every step of investigation, and every detail of every interview. It made for exhausting work, but it was necessary.

It was nearly lunch time when a knock came at his office door. “Come in,” Harry called.

Kingsley walked in, looking grim. “There’s been another murder. This time in Diagon Alley.”

Harry felt his stomach drop to his knees. “What? Is it related?”

“There’s another note, same type of paper as in the Hooch case.”

Harry stood up and grabbed his Auror bag, “Let’s go.”

As Kingsley and Harry rushed to the Ministry floos, Kingsley explained what he knew so far. The victim was, Margaret Murphy, a witch about twenty eight years old. She had been a sixth year Hufflepuff when Harry started at Hogwarts so he wasn’t familiar with her. Margaret worked in marketing for the Chudley Cannons. Part of her job required her to travel to different wizarding locales throughout Britain to sell tickets and other Cannons merchandise. She was fairly well-known at the Leaky Cauldron, where she stayed frequently. She was supposed to have met a friend for drinks in the bar of the Leaky, and when Margaret didn’t show up, the friend went upstairs to look for her. Margaret’s door was ajar, and the friend went in and found Margaret’s body.

That was all Kingsley knew so far.

Harry and Kingsley floo’ed directly to The Leaky Cauldron, and the first thing Harry saw was Hannah Abbot sitting at a table, comforting another woman. “That’s the friend,” Kingsley muttered to Harry.

Harry strode over to her and stuck out his hand, “Hello. I’m Harry Potter from the Aurors office. I’m in charge of the investigation.”

The woman sniffed and shook his hand, “Adeena Gombe,” she introduced herself. “Margaret was my very best friend,” she broke out into sobs.

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Harry said, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket and handing it to her. “I’m going upstairs now, but I’ll be back down to talk to you in a few minutes.”

Adeena nodded, “Yes, sir.”

Harry and Kingsley went upstairs, “Room twenty,” Kingsley said.  They went down the hall to room twenty, which was being guarded by a security wizard, who stood aside to let Harry and Kingsley through.

Margaret Murphy was a very pretty witch. She’d died with a smile on her face, which indicated to Harry that she might have known her attacker, Harry pulled out his wizard camera and took a few shots of the body and the scene.

He picked up the note from the body, which had been on her chest. It was the same type of paper and appeared to be the same ink as the note on Madam Hooch’s body. This note said:

_Read your Prophet._ ****

“This mean anything to you?” he asked Kingsley, knowing full well what the answer would be.

“No,” Kingsley said. Harry slid the note in his bag.

He jotted a few notes in his book. He reached out and touched the body. “Rigor Mortis,” he told Kingsley, “She’s been dead quite a while.” Harry thought a moment. “When you get back to the Ministry, can you let Jeffers know that I’ll need a partner in this investigation? I want every person who is staying here interviewed, I want every staff member interviewed, and I want every person who came in for a pint or a bite between last night and this afternoon interviewed. Somebody had to have seen something.”

“I will,” Kingsley said. “I’m on my way to inform the Murphy family. I will stop by the Ministry on my way to Madam Hooch’s funeral and have Jeffers send you a partner. Any requests?”

Harry thought, he usually partnered with Ron, but he definitely did not want to disturb Ron who was on leave. He shrugged, “Anyone Jeffers thinks will do well is fine with me. Sammitt is already working on finding code in the notes, so it can be her if she has the time.”

Kingsley nodded and left Harry alone. Harry looked back down at Margaret Murphy. He started examining the body for the killing curse scar. He started, just like he had with Madam Hooch, at the scalp. Though her hair was longer than Madam Hooch’s, it was blonde, so it was easier to see that she hadn’t been hit in the head. Her neck was clear as well. Harry carefully pulled her shirt up. He saw the scar directly in the center of her body, above her abdomen and just below her bra. He snapped a picture of it, then pulled her shirt back down.

Harry spied Margaret’s suitcase and a smaller duffel bag lying open on the bed. He walked over and began filing through it. The duffel bag had an assortment of Cannons merchandise. Omni-oculars in the Cannons’ colors, Cannons programs, signed photos of the players and the like. In her suitcase, there were clothes, robes in the colors of the Chudley Cannons, toiletries and makeup, and - Harry hated that he blushed seeing this - a sex toy. It’s not that he was a prude, and it’s not that he judged Margaret for using a dildo, it made him feel queasy that, should he and Neville die, there would be similar embarrassing things for investigators to find. He carefully packed up the contents, shrunk them down and shoved it into his auror bag.

Then he went back downstairs to talk to Adeena, who was still sitting at a table with Hannah. When Hannah saw Harry approaching, she stood and gave Harry a hug. “Good to see you,” she said quietly.

“You too,” Harry answered. “Have you been working all day?”

Hannah nodded.

“All right. I’m going to need to talk to you after this,” he said.

Hannah agreed and Harry sat in the seat she’d just vacated and pulled out his notebook and ever-lasting ink quill. “Miss Gombe. Will you be able to answer a few questions?” Adeena nodded, tears still leaking from her eyes and her lips quivering. “Can you tell me what happened?” he asked gently.

“Well,” Adeena started, taking a deep breath. “Margaret and I’ve been friends for a long time, since we were both in Hufflepuff. And whenever she comes to Diagon Alley for work, she owls me. And we get together and have drinks. She’s my best friend.” Adeena teared up again and had to take a few moments to gather herself. Harry waited patiently. Finally she continued, “So last week, I got an owl telling me she was coming and asked to meet me here at lunch and we’d spend the day together. She really didn’t have to start working until tomorrow, see. She was coming in a day early just to spend time with me. So I was here, and she didn’t show up, so I asked Hannah what room she was in, and I went to find her. Her door was open a little and she didn’t answer when I knocked, so I went in and....and....” Adeena broke into sobs again.

Harry reached in his robe pocket and pulled out a clean handkerchief and handed it over to Adeena. “Did you move her body at all?” he asked.

Adeena shook her head, “No. I could tell right away that she was dead and I didn’t want to touch her. I came down and told Hannah, and she sent one of the kitchen elves to the Ministry. Minister Shacklebolt came and spoke with Hannah and went up to the room, then he left and came back with you. And that’s everything.”

“Do you know if Margaret had made plans to see anyone else while she was in Diagon Alley?”

“No.” Adeena shook her head.

“No you don’t know? or No she didn’t.

“She didn’t. I know she didn’t.”

“Are you sure?”

Adeena nodded firmly. “She would have told me. She told me everything.”

“All right. Did she ever tell you about some trouble she was having with anyone? Was anyone mad at her for some reason?”

“No.” Adeena wailed. “Everyone loved her!”

“Can you tell me about her job?”

Adeena shrugged, “She worked for the Chudley Cannons. She loved her job because she got to travel to all these great wizarding villages all over Europe. She loved quidditch even though she was a rotten player. She tried out for the Hufflepuff team every year since her second, and she never made the team. But, oh. She loved it so much, and that’s why she wanted to work there.”

“Was she close to Madam Hooch?” Harry asked.

Adeena shrugged. “Not any closer than any other student I supposed. Do you....do you think they’re related?”

Harry nodded, “It appears that way.” He fiddled with the bottle of butterbeer Hannah had just place in front of him. “Had you ever met Margaret’s family?”

“Oooh, they’re just awful,” Adeena said. “They’re muggles, you know. And they thought Margaret’s magic was the devil’s work. She had an awful childhood with Priests coming to exorcise demons from her body. Her parents would lock her in a closet to pray the devil away and they’d get angry when she was able to unlock the closet from the inside. They barely let her come to Hogwarts.”

“Really?” Harry asked, leaning forward.

“Oh yes. I bet all these years later, they still doubt that magic is more than the devil. Margaret only visits at Christmas time, and sometimes not even then. She was right miserable there. Before our fourth year, Margaret owled me that her parents weren’t going to let her go back to Hogwarts. So my parents and I paid a visit, and they were downright nasty to us. My dad is from Africa, see, and my mam is Irish, and they didn’t approve of us at all.”

“That must have been hard,” Harry said.

“My parents were OK, they just thought her family was trash. They didn’t hold it against Margaret at all, but she was mortified.”

“Did your parents like Margaret?”

Adeena shifted uncomfortably. “My parents....were all right once they met her.”

“What do you mean?”

“I...” Adeena started sniffling again, “I’m not the same as my parents, you must understand. They weren’t death eaters, but they supported the death eater ideals. And, I know you’re Harry Potter, and that should make you angry - “

“It doesn’t,” he assured her.

Adeena went on as though he hadn’t spoken, “but they were really upset I hadn’t been sorted into Slytherin. But I’m proud to be a Hufflepuff and so was Margaret. I think my parents eventually accepted Margaret because we are - were- so close.”

Harry was making notes in his notebook. “I think that’s all, Miss Gombe. If you think of anything else, please let me know.”

“I will.”

“Can I have your address, in case I need anything further?”

“I live in the flat above Quality Quidditch Supplies.”

“Thank you,” Harry said, struggling to think whether the Quality Quidditch Supplies link could be more than mere coincidence.

He got up and walked toward the bar to talk to Hannah. At that point, Jeffers and Sammitt both walked in.

“Guys, hi.” Harry said. They came over to him and he took them up to Margaret Murphy’s room. He filled them in on his investigation so far, and his interview with Adeena Gombe.  He pulled the note out of his bag and handed it over to Sammy.

She looked at it and then looked up at Harry. “Do you get the connection?” she asked.

“Er...no.” He answered. Jeffers looked just as confused.

“Hints & Recipes.” She said. “Read your Prophet.  There’s a column in the Prophet every Wednesday called _Your Homewitch Neighbor._ It’s written by this housewife, Dottie Something, and her column is full of helpful homemaking hints and recipes. Things like, ‘ _add a little scurvy root to your tea for a nice complexion_ ,’ or _‘flicking your wand when you scourgify will make a wood surface shine_.’

“So you think Dottie the Homewitch Neighbor did this?” Jeffers asked incredulously.

“Well, not necessarily. She may have had something to do with it, or there may be a code in her columns,” Sammy suggested.

Harry and Jeffers looked at each other and shrugged. “I guess.” Harry said. “I’ll go talk to the Murphy family, I think I should do that because they’re muggles. Then I’ll pay a visit to Dottie the Homewitch Neighbor. You guys talk to Hannah Abbott. Get a list from her of other people staying here, interview them. Ask her if she can recall anyone who was in the bar last night, interview them. The only link I can find between Margaret and Madam Hooch is quidditch - Madam Hooch used to play it, and Margaret worked for the Cannons. Ask people if they overheard any conversations about quidditch that seemed unusual. See if they saw anyone unusual in the bar or heading upstairs last night.”

“Got it,” Sammy nodded.

“Sure,” Jeffers said, not looking entirely happy about one of his Aurors bossing him around.

Harry took the notes back from Sammy, stuffed them in his bag. Then, with a perfunctory nod to Sammy and Jeffers, walked back down to Diagon Alley and apparated to the Murphy house.


	8. Two houses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um. For some reason, I accidentally posted chapter seven twice. So this is the REAL chapter eight.

The last time Harry had seen a house as pathetic and ill-kept as the Murphy’s house was in the pensieve at the home of Merope Gaunt, Tom Riddle’s mother.

The Murphy house was small and square and at the end of a brambled lane. Harry was unable to get exact coordinates and ended up apparating to an alley at the nearest town, then having to walk over two miles to their home. He must not have been the only one, as he quickly crossed paths with Kingsley, who looked less than happy.

“Those Murphys are awful people, Harry.” Kingsley warned, “And I’m certain they had nothing to do with the murder, but I will let you investigate. They are expecting you.”

Harry looked into Kingsley’s dark face, “Her friend at the Leaky told me the Murphys are racist.” Harry said.

Kingsley nodded, “That might explain some of their behaviour toward me.” He rolled his eyes. “Look, Harry. They seem a little bit like....well, like your Aunt and Uncle in their attitudes. Do you want someone else to do this interview?”

The truth was, Harry was not looking forward to dealing with people who’d just been compared to Vernon and Petunia, but he was a professional, and he certainly didn’t need the Minister thinking he couldn’t do his job. “I’ll be fine,” he assured Kingsley. He did make the decision to remove his Auror robes and talk to them in his muggle clothes.

They parted ways and Harry continued down the lane until he veered off on a thin graveled path. He finally reached the house, and was shocked that anyone lived there. The house was in a state of disrepair, nearly all the paint was peeled off and the little that remained was grey with age. There were missing shutters, and the roof had visibly missing tiles. Two window panes were boarded with plywood.

Harry stepped carefully onto the front porch, which sagged and creaked frightfully under his weight. He knocked lightly on the door.

The man who answered was small and scrawny. At barely five feet six, Harry was used to being the shortest man in the room, yet he had a good three inches on this man who had to be Mr. Murphy. Mr. Murphy’s grey hair was too long and wispy. He was wearing a yellowed t-shirt and a pair of filthy and patched brown trousers. Though it was not quite three in the afternoon, he smelled sharply of whiskey. “What ‘choo want?” he asked Harry gruffly.

“Mr. Murphy, my name is Harry Potter. I’m investigating the death of your daughter, Margaret.” Harry reached his hand out to shake, but put it down awkwardly when Mr. Murphy ignored it.

“I told that black fellow, I ain’t got nothing to say to you. It’s your lot what killed her, and it’s your lot what can figure it out. Once you people got your hands on her, she became a stranger to us. Didn’t want nothing to do with her own flesh and blood and preferring your freak show.”

Harry paused, unsure what to say next. Kingsley had warned him, and indeed, Mr. Murphy was an awful lot like a poorer, less-educated Uncle Vernon. “I’m going to try my best to solve this murder, Mr. Murphy. Would you be willing to answer a few questions?”

Mr. Murphy looked up at him with his small watery eyes for a few moments before opening the door wider. Harry stepped through into a small, shabby sitting room. The room was dimly lit only by the light peering through a window covered in grime. The couches looked older than Harry. There was a girl sitting on a rocker in the corner. She looked a lot like Margaret, but younger. This girl appeared to be about seventeen years old and she was nursing a baby.

“Oi,” Mr. Murphy said to the girl, “Someone is here, and you don’t need to ‘ave your tits out in company.”

Harry raised his eyebrows in horror at the way Mr. Murphy was speaking. “It’s all right,” he said. “She can feed the baby.”

“Kevin’s got to eat, Daddy,” the girl sighed.

Mr. Murphy ignored her and sat on the couch. “What ‘choo want to know?” he asked Harry.

Harry was struggling to maintain his professionalism in the face of Mr. Murphy’s attitude. “Well,” Harry began, “I’m wondering if Margaret ever talked to you about her work.”

“Nope.” Mr. Murphy said curtly.

“She never talked about quidditch?”

Mr. Murphy shrugged, “Don’t even know what that is, do I?”

“Did you ever meet any of Margaret’s friends?”

“Nope.”

“Did Margaret talk to you about any trouble she had with anyone?”

Before Mr. Murphy could answer, the door opened and an older woman walked in, carrying a laundry basket with clothes that had just been pulled from an outdoor line. Her face looked very much like she had been crying.

Mr. Murphy didn’t acknowledge that his wife had just walked in. “Didn’t talk to us at all,” he answered Harry shortly.

Deciding he was getting nowhere with Mr. Murphy, Harry stood and introduced himself to Mrs. Murphy. Mrs. Murphy nodded quickly at him and said quietly, “We weren’t close to Margaret. She lived in a different world than we did.”

Mr. Murphy snorted and Harry turned toward him, but he said nothing else. Harry asked Mrs. Murphy the same questions he’d asked of Mr. Murphy, but she was no more help. He sat back on the couch for a moment and reached into his Auror bag to grab the note. As he did that, the teenage girl walked by him and dropped a note into his lap.

As Harry pulled the ‘Hints & Recipes’ note out of his bag, he surreptitiously opened the other note. In round child-like scrawl, she had written, ‘Meet me at the end of the lane when you leave.’

Harry shoved that note in his pocket. He held the other note out to Mr. & Mrs. Murphy, “Does this mean anything to you?” he asked.

Mr. Murphy looked at it in disgust, “Nope.” Harry glanced toward Mrs. Murphy, who shook her head slightly.

“All right,” Harry said, standing up. “I think that’s about everything.” Neither of the Murphys acknowledged him, so he continued, “I’ll keep you informed about my investigation.” After an awkward pause when neither one of them said anything, he added, “Thanks,” before turning and letting himself out.

Harry walked slowly down the gravel drive and toward the brambled lane. When he got to the end, he stopped and looked back at the house. He shifted impatiently from foot to foot, waiting for the girl to appear.  Several minutes later, he saw her come out the door, carefully pushing a rickety, old-fashioned pram.

As she came nearer, she turned to look back at the house to make sure they weren’t seen. “Walk with me,” she said quietly.

They walked in silence for a few moments and as they rounded a curve in the lane, they were no longer in view of the house. The girl reached into the pram and pulled out a stack of letters on parchment, held together by a thick rubber band and handed them to Harry. “These are all the letters Margaret ever sent to me from the time I was round about eight years old.”

Harry looked down at the top letter. The address read “Colleen Murphy, far left window, Route 2, Roosky, Co. Roscommon.”

Harry looked up at her, “You’re Colleen? Are you Margaret’s sister?”

“Yes,” Colleen nodded. “Margaret was ten years older than me, so I don’t even remember a time when she lived here. I was only one when she left for Hogwarts, and I only saw her during the summers. She started writing me quite often her seventh year - when I was eight. And we wrote frequently, but our parents didn’t know it.”

“Why not?” Harry asked.

Colleen shrugged. “You saw what they’re like. They never really approved of Margaret and her magic.”  Colleen bit the inside of her cheek, tears were forming in her eyes. “You probably don’t understand.”

“I do,” Harry insisted. “I was raised by an aunt and uncle who were quite the same way.”

Colleen looked up at him and gave way to the tears that had been threatening to come. She gulped back huge sobs, and Harry, not knowing what else to do, enveloped the poor girl in a hug. “It’s all right,” he said. “Cry it out.”

Colleen continued to cry for several minutes. When she managed to get a hold of herself, she looked up at Harry and asked the last question he would have expected, “When do you know for sure if someone is magical?”

“Er...” Harry said, “If you were magical, you’d know well before now. I think most kids show magic by eight.”

“It’s not me,” Colleen said, “It’s Kevin,” and she pointed to the baby sleeping peacefully in the pram.

“Well, he’s probably a bit young,” Harry said, “But I grew up with muggles, so I don’t really know if magical babies are common.”

“He can move things with his mind,” Colleen said.

“He can what?”

“I was trying to get him to crawl,” Colleen explained. “So I put him up on all fours and put his favorite toy just out of his reach, so he’d have to crawl to it. But he couldn’t get it, and he was crying. Before I could even hand him the toy, zoom. It moved right into his hand.”

Harry paused, “Are you certain?”

“Yes,” Colleen nodded. “We did it a few times.”

“Well, it sounds like he might be a wizard.”

“What should I do?” Colleen asked.

“Wizarding school doesn’t begin until age eleven.”

“I don’t want him raised near my parents, but I’m only seventeen and I never completed school myself. I can’t afford to move out. Does your Ministry have any way of helping us out?”

“You know about our Ministry?”

Colleen pointed to the letters, “Margaret told me a lot about your world. And she even told me who you are, Harry Potter. She had to do a lot of research to figure out where her magic came from so that she wouldn’t be captured during your war.”

“So you have a family history of magic?” Harry asked.

Colleen nodded, “It turns out my mum’s mum was a witch. She only made it through her fifth year at Hoggwarts then left because she failed to get any O.W.L.s. At one point, Margaret made our house unplottable,”

“That’s why I couldn’t get apparition coordinates,” Harry said.

Colleen nodded, “She told me about that too. Then she did a little research, found our grandmother’s name on the Hogwarts registry. I went to our storage shed and managed to find grandmother’s old wand, which Margaret took when she went to be questioned.”

“So she wasn’t held?” Harry asked.

“No, she said in her letters that they allowed her to go.”

“Did Margaret ever talk to you about her work?”

“Sometimes. There’s a little bit in her letters.”

“Did anything seem suspicious in her most recent letters?”

“No,” Colleen shook her head. “I will say that Margaret had mentioned that she’d been dating someone, but she would never give me any details.”

“Hmm,” Harry frowned thoughtfully.

“Look,” Colleen glanced back toward the house. “I’d better get going. I just thought the letters might help you out.”

“Thanks,” Harry nodded and stuck his hand out. Colleen shook it. “Oh, and one of my friends works at the muggle liaison office for the Ministry of Magic. Her name is Hermione Granger-Weasley. I’ll talk to her about Kevin, all right?”

“Thank you,” Colleen seemed relieved.

“If I need to contact you, can I use owl post? Should I use this address?” he tapped on the address on Margaret’s letters.

“Yes, but I prefer the owls to come at night only so my parents don’t know.”

“Understood,” Harry nodded. “Thanks for your help, Colleen. I’ll be in touch.”

Colleen waved to him and Harry turned to walk back toward the village, making his way back to the alley where he had originally apparated from.

_____

As much as Harry wanted to dive in to the letters Colleen had given him, he knew that he first had to pay a visit to Dottie Haversham, the Neighborhood Homewitch first. Not that he thought Dottie murdered anyone, but because the connection to her from the notes was jarring and suspicious.

Dottie’s house was not much bigger than the Murphy’s, but the difference in condition couldn’t  be overstated enough. While the Murphy house had been sadly sagging with peeling paint, missing shutters and with an altogether depressing appearance, the Haversham residence was bright and whimsical.

The house looked to be freshly painted in bright white, and the shutters were a yellow so bright, it nearly hurt Harry’s eyes to look directly at them. The front garden was terraced and overgrown with brightly colored flowers, none of which he could name but which he was sure Neville could at one glance. In between rows of flowers, were various pieces of moving garden statuary; a tiny working wooden windmill, several smiling gnomes, and an entire row of prancing cupids.

Harry carefully made his way up the small wooden walkway (which was painted bright blue) to the front door, which was painted bright red, which he knocked on quietly.

A woman, who he assumed must be Dottie answered the door. She was a short woman, dressed in bright purple robes which did little to hide her enormous girth. Her face was pleasantly rosy and she smiled as she opened the door.

“Mrs. Haversham?” he asked.

“Yes?” she asked him, then immediately noticing the scar on his forehead, widened her eyes. “My goodness!” she exclaimed, “Are you Harry Potter?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered, nodding once.

“Come in, Mr. Potter. Come in,” she opened the door for him and he followed her into the small house. The whimsy outside was copied on the inside. They walked into the kitchen, which had painted teal walls, rows of copper pots dangling from a rack attached to the ceiling. Much of the room was taken up by a large white painted table surrounded by yellow chairs. “Sit,” Dottie ordered Harry pointing to one of the chairs. “I’ll get us some tea.”

Harry was surprised that Dottie hadn’t seemed exactly surprised he was here, but then again she seemed anxious to be a very gracious hostess. He watched as Dottie busied herself preparing tea, and opening several canisters and pulling out various varieties of biscuits, scones and tarts, all of which looked delicious, but which Harry realized the bilious taste in his throat would keep him from eating. While she was doing that, she asked Harry, “I read about Madam Hooch in the Prophet,” she said. “How are you coming along in your investigation?”

“Well,” Harry began, “It’s quite a complicated case,” he started, “And the reason I’m here, is that there has been another murder, and it seems as though it might have something to do with your column in the Prophet.”

“What?” Dottie asked in surprise bringing a tray laden with teas and sweets and setting it in front of Harry. “How can that be? Who else was murdered?”

Harry took a teacup and added a lump of sugar to it, “A woman by the name of Margaret Murphy. Did you know her?”

“No.”

“She was only twenty-seven, and she worked for the Chudley Cannons.”

“My husband is a Cannons fan,” Dottie answered. “I’ll go get him and see if he knows her.”

Dottie left and Harry took a small sip of his tea, hoping it would calm his stomach. It didn’t. He felt more than ever like there was a brick of acid sitting atop his gut. He looked around at this teal kitchen, with the copper pots hanging from a ceiling rack and with vases of brightly coloured flowers, and he realized that there could be no way Dottie Haversham had anything to do with murdering Madam Hooch and Margaret Murphy. This had to be a mistake.

Dottie returned accompanied by a man who reminded Harry quite a bit of Uncle Vernon, from his over-sized girth, lack of neck and even down to a walrus mustache. Where he differed from Uncle Vernon, however is that while Vernon had mean beady eyes, this man’s eyes were kind and smiled when he smiled.  

Harry stood up as the man entered and stuck out his hand, “Hello, sir. I’m Harry Potter.”

“Of course you are!” the man exclaimed happily pumping Harry’s hand several times. “I am Rodrick Haversham.”

The three of them sat at the table and Rodrick continued, “So Dottie tells me a player from the Cannons was murdered?”

“No, not a player. A woman by the name Margaret Murphy. She worked for the Cannons in promotions and sales. If you bought tickets to any games, you likely got them from her.”

Mr. Haversham thought for a few moments, “Well, I haven’t bought tickets in a couple of years, but last time I did, I got them from a young lady. Long blond hair?”

“That’s her.”

Both the Havershams shook their heads mournfully, “What a damn shame,” Rodrick said. After a moment, he looked up, “But what’s this got to do with us?”

“Well,” Harry began. “There were notes left on the bodies.” Harry got his auror bag and rummaged around inside. Between Margaret’s letters and her two suitcases, space was getting tight. He pulled out the two notes. He lay the first one on the table, “This was found on Madam Hooch’s body.” He then lay the second one out, “And this one was on Margaret’s body.”

Dottie looked up at Harry, her mouth in a round O shape. “That does sound like it’s referring to my column! But I haven’t anything to do with this!”

“Has anyone contacted you recently? About your column?”

“Of course,” Dottie said. “I get letters frequently from readers.”

“What kind of letters?” Harry asked.

“All different sorts. Asking for recipes, tricks for cleaning, how to charm knitting needles for different knitting patterns. That sort of thing.”

“Has anyone ever written to you about quidditch?”

Dottie thought for a moment. “Not that I can recall.”

“Do you keep the letters you receive?”

“Yes.”

“May I see them?”

Dottie left the room and came back with a large box. “These are arranged by topic,” she said. Harry peeked into the box and sure enough, there were pink tabs which read, “Cooking,” “Sewing,” “Cleaning,” “Etiquette,” “Hosting,” and “Crafts.” None said quidditch.

“Is this all of them?”

“All except for the ones I’m using in upcoming columns.”

“I need those.”

“Well,” Dottie hesitated, “I do too.”

Harry hesitated a moment. “Bring them to me, and I will duplicate them.”

Dottie got up and left the room again. Rodrick looked at Harry sympathetically. “She’s very protective of her work,” he explained awkwardly.

“So am I,” Harry said shortly, wondering why he felt so annoyed all of a sudden.

Dottie came back in with five letters. Harry opened each of them, pointed his wand at them one by one and said, “Geminio.” Each letter was duplicated exactly. Harry scooped up the five originals and added them to the box of letters. “I will bring these back after they’ve been reviewed by our code-breaker.”

“Has anyone stopped by recently to talk to you about your column?” Harry asked.

“No,” Dottie insisted. “I generally get letters.”

“No one has asked you to write something specific in your column?”

“No,” Dottie said again, more forcefully. “I would remember that.”

“Unless there was a memory charm put on you,” Rodrick pointed out. “Remember when Albert,” he turned to Harry, “That’s our son.” And turned back to Dottie, “Remember when he tried to modify our memories after he threw that house party back when he was seventeen and we’d gone to Spain?” Rodrick chuckled, “What a mess. He overdid it, and we both had to go to St. Mungo’s to get our minds back in working order.”

Harry was thinking fast, “So someone could have come and confunded you to print a code in your column, and modified your memory to see he, or she, wasn’t caught.”

“This sounds a bit far-fetched,” Dottie said.

“So does the murder of Madam Hooch,” Harry said. “And so far, we’ve got a killer who seems to be pointing us in the direction of your column.” Harry paused for a moment. “I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to know that you have no legal responsibility to go along with this.”

“What is it?” Dottie asked, sounding bewildered.

“I’d like to perform legilimens on you.” Harry said. Although he’d never grown to be great at occlumency, Harry had found himself in auror training with a knack for legilimency. It was quite easy to get into someone’s mind. In fact, he discovered that minds were often organized in a file-like system so it was easy to tap into exactly what he was looking for.

“But if my memory was modified?” she asked, drifting off.

“It won’t matter,” Harry explained. “What actually happened is in your subconscious, which I can reach by legilimens.”

“Um,” Dottie looked anxiously at Rodrick, who prodded her with a slight nod. “OK. Yes.”

“All right,” Harry said. “I need you to sit and relax. Try to empty your thoughts and look at me right in the eye.”

The surest way to get someone to imagine a pink elephant, is to tell them not to think of a pink elephant. And with legilimency, Harry had found that people often put at the forefront of their minds, the very things they never wanted anyone to find out.

In Dottie’s case, she was remembering one night of marital infidelity years earlier, which Harry quickly dismissed. He flipped through the files of her mind and saw her reading letters, preparing columns, delivering columns to the Prophet. There were years of these incidents and not one single suspicious visit from someone slipping a code into her column.

“OK,” Harry said leaning back.

“Did you see anything?” Dottie asked.

“Nope,” Harry shook his head.  He picked the murder notes up off the table and stuffed them back in his bag. “I’m sorry to have bothered you with this,” he said apologetically.

Dottie and Rodrick stood up. “Won’t you stay and have a pastry?” she asked Harry, motioning to the tray of sweets.

He smiled. She reminded him a little of Molly Weasley, always trying to fatten him up. “I appreciate it, but I’d better get back to the office.” He picked up the box of Dottie’s letters and held it carefully. “I will return these as soon as possible.”

With additional thank yous and good-byes, Harry left the Haversham’s bright, whimsical cottage and apparated back to the Ministry.


	9. The second connection

****

Harry trudged back to the Ministry, his heart was heavy and his stomach was churning. He carried the box containing Dottie’s letters to his office.

“Hey, mate.” Harry looked up in surprise and saw Ron sitting in behind Harry’s desk.

“What’re you doing here?” Harry asked him, dropping the box of letters on his desk.

“Well, I heard about the second murder, and thought I’d come back to work a little earlier than expected.”

“Hermione doesn’t need you at home?”

Ron shrugged and smiled. “I think I’m getting on Hermione’s last nerve,” he admitted sheepishly.

“Too much togetherness?” Harry asked.

Ron shrugged. “Rosie eats all the time. There’s not a whole lot I can do in that area. Anyway, absence makes the heart grow fonder, right?”

Harry smiled, happy to have his best friend back, “If you say so, mate.”

“So tell me what you’ve got going on here,” Ron said.

Harry sighed, “It’s a long story,” he warned.

“I’ve got the time. Maybe talking it out will help you.”

“Right,” Harry agreed. He conjured another chair and pulled it next to Ron’s, and began talking, “So far it’s been all detective work. A lot of investigating, a lot of questions and not nearly enough answers.” He continued, starting with the discovery of Madam Hooch’s body, the Malfoy connection, interviewing McGonagall, interviewing the Malfoys.

Ron choked on the sip of water he’d just taken. “My daughter is going to have to go to Hogwarts with the _Malfoy_ spawn?” he asked incredulously.

“I hadn’t even thought of that, but yeah. Sounds like it.” Harry said, trying hard to stifle his laughter at Ron’s disgusted face.

“Anyway,” Ron said, making a hand gesture that Harry should continue.

“Right,” Harry said, and he continued, telling Ron about meeting with Gert Trelawney and Mr. Hooch, getting help from Sammy on the notes, learning about the Murphy murder and his investigation so far.

When Harry showed Ron the second note, Ron guffawed, “Is this about Dottie the Homewitch Next Door, or whatever the hell her name is?” he asked.

“Sammy thought maybe so. You’ve heard of her?”

“Yeah. Mum keeps sending Hermione clips from Dottie’s column. It’s driving Hermione batty. Mum can’t get it through her head that Hermione is going back to work and isn’t staying home to be a housewife.”

Harry stared at Ron for a moment before saying in disbelief, “Has Molly even _met_ Hermione?”

Ron grinned, “I _know_! Hermione said the same thing.”

The knot in Harry’s stomach was slowly loosening. He felt happy, relieved to have his best friend by his side again. He and Ron had made a good Auror team, and it was nice that Ron was back for his biggest case yet.

Harry continued his story, including him going to the Murphy’s, and to the Haversham’s. “I think the link with Dottie is just a coincidence though,” Harry said. “I even performed legilimens on Dottie and found nothing suspicious.”

“Hmm,” Ron said thoughtfully glancing at the notes. “Now we’ve got both notes, though, maybe there needs to be more anagramming? Maybe the notes are a code? There could be a code with each letter having a number - maybe we could look into some arithmancy.”

“Sammy’s working on possible codes,” Harry said. “But it can’t hurt to have two heads involved.”

At that moment, Sammy and Jeffers walked into Harry’s office. “That was a long day of interviewing,” Sammy said sounding exhausted. Then she noticed Ron sitting there, “Hey Weasley,” she said. “What’re you doing here?”

“Well, I came to help out.”

“Don’t you have a new baby to tend?”

“The baby and Hermione can make do without me for a bit.”

Jeffers snickered, “Getting in your wife’s way, are you?”

Ron blushed slightly, “Something like that.”

“Anyway,” Harry interrupted. “Any luck with the interviews?”

“Hannah remembered quite a few patrons from last night. A lot of regulars, were there, so she was able to give names. We interviewed everyone she remembered, and the guests who are renting rooms at the moments,” Jeffers explained.

“Anything suspicious?”

Jeffers and Sammy looked at each other and shrugged, “Nothing that jumped out at me,” Sammy said. “But,” she added, “We filled out all the paperwork as we went along, so we can all review it together and maybe we’ll see something we missed.” She turned to Harry, “What’d you get?”

“Nothing much,” he admitted. “The Murphys are the worst kind of muggles. They hate magic and think the wizarding world stole their daughter from them. Her kid sister is seventeen and already a mum, and heartbroken. I have a bunch of letters Margaret sent to the kid sister,” he reached into his bag and pulled out the stack. “They wrote to each other secretly. We need to investigate Margaret’s flat today, we might be able to find what she wrote to the sister. Maybe something else to give us a clue. I also have her suitcases which were in her room at the Leaky.” Harry used his wand to summon them out of his bag. “I poked through them, but haven’t done a thorough search. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.”

Sammy took the bags and opened them. “I’ll go through these now.”

“Thanks,” Harry said. He leaned back in his chair and ran his fingers through his hair. He watched as Ron and Jeffers grabbed some of the interview sheets and started reading through them. Harry had this feeling that they were missing something. That there was something obvious, staring at all of them in the face and they were just not getting it.

Harry reached over and grabbed a few of the interview sheets and began reading through them. Once he got through a few of them, he put the stack down, “Do any of your interview sheets say anything about an unknown woman with brown curly hair?” he asked.

“One of mine did,” Ron said.

Jeffers looked back through his stack, “Yep. Hannah even saw her. Hannah saw the woman come in, but then she - Hannah - turned around to help another patron, and then didn’t see the woman again all night. So whoever she was, didn’t stay for long.”

“Pull out all the interview sheets that mention the woman with brown curly hair,” Harry ordered.

“Harry,” Sammy interrupted. “I found Margaret’s planner.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry asked, getting up and walking over to Sammy.

Sammy opened the book and flipped through, her eyes widened. “It says on here at 2000 hours, ‘Interview.’”

“That’s all? It doesn’t say where or with whom?” Harry asked.

“No. It just says interview.”

“Maybe a job interview?” Ron asked.

“Maybe,” Harry said. “But according to her best friend, Adeena, Margaret loved her job. Was absolutely crazy about it.”

“Uh, Harry?” Sammy interrupted. “What, exactly, was the relationship between Adeena and Margaret?”

“Best friends. Friends since they were sorted into Hufflepuff together. Why?” Harry asked, bemused.

Sammy held up the sex toy that Harry had noticed earlier. “Because this.”

Harry felt the blush rising in his face. “Right. What about it?” he stammered.

“We’re all adults here, Harry.” Sammy admonished him jokingly. “No need to get flustered over sex. But this leads me to believe that Margaret and Adeena were lovers.”

Harry glanced at Ron, whose face was also pink, and to Jeffers who wasn’t blushing, but who looked honestly confused. “OK.” Harry said slowly, “You’ll have to explain why you think that.”

“Because of these,” Sammy explained impatiently, as she tugged on the straps that were attached to the dildo.

Harry looked helplessly to the other men in the room, and they seemed to be at as much as a loss as he did. “All right, Sammy. Spell it out for us like we’re morons. It seems like none of us is overly familiar with women’s sex toys.”

“This isn’t a regular dildo,” she said. “It’s a strap-on. And unless Margaret was dating a man who liked this used on his back door, she was using it on a woman. If this toy was for her to use on herself, it wouldn’t have the straps, see? Because she wears it.”

“Actually, that makes quite a lot of sense,” Jeffers pointed out.

“But it’s not necessarily Adeena,” Harry pointed out. “She could have been with another woman.”

“Other than the interview, and the upcoming Cannons game, the only other thing in her planner is Adeena. Meeting Adeena for lunch, today. She brought this,” Sammy held up the sex toy, “on this trip for a reason. And my guess is that reason is named Adeen Gombe, and that she lied to Auror Potter about the nature of her relationship with the murder victim.”

“I’d better go talk to her again, then.” Harry murmured. “I’ll do that then search Margaret’s flat.”

“I can go with,” Ron offered.

“No, I’ll go,” Sammy said quickly, laying her hand on Harry’s forearm.  Ron glanced between Sammy and Harry, his brows stitched together. “I just mean, Adeena might feel more comfortable with a woman there. You know, when we bring up this,” she nodded her head toward the suitcase which had the sex toy sitting on top of it.

“Oh. Right,” Ron said, glancing at Harry with a quick shrug. “Jeffers and I will work on going through this and try to figure out the mysterious woman with curly brown hair.”

_____

****

“Apartment first,” Harry said, as he and Sammy headed toward the Ministry lifts. “We’ll see if we can find any further proof of Adeena being her girlfriend.”

“Right,” Sammy agreed. “Good idea.”

They went up the lifts and apparated to the village of Chudley. There was small group of residence flats for the Cannons players and personnel where Margaret lived by herself. Harry and Sammy walked silently up the half-flight of steps to Margaret’s door.

Harry pointed his wand at the door “Alohomora,” he said and heard it unlock. He knocked on the door and called “Aurors office!” as he opened it.  It was, as he expected, empty.

The flat was small and clean. Harry and Sammy walked right into a small sitting room, which had a large fireplace along one wall. A short brown loveseat was situated in front of the fireplace flanked by two cushiony orange chairs. The wall opposite the fireplace held a bookcase, filled only about halfway with books. The rest of the space was devoted to photographs, most of which were moving photos of Margaret and Adeena, including one where they were dancing and kissing. The other photos were all muggle school snapshots of Colleen, from about the age of ten up until one that was very recent.

Harry grabbed the photo of the kissing and dancing and continued on into the flat. On the wall perpendicular to the fireplace, there was a door. Harry and Sammy glanced in and saw it was a bedroom. They searched the bedroom, which  compared to the living room, the bedroom was even more spare, with only a bed and a dresser. The dresser had Cannons merchandise atop it, but no further photos. The drawers were only filled with clothes, and the closet with shoes, robes, and luggage. Except for on one shelf, which held a stack of letters. Harry picked them up and saw that they were letters from Colleen and from Adeena. “Here,” he held them out to Sammy. “There are some letters from Adeena in there.”

Sammy grabbed the letters from Harry and pulled out the ones from Adeena. She opened the most recent one and read a few lines, “Right, well, they were definitely lovers,” she said.

Harry sighed. “Well, let’s go pay her a visit.”

“Wait, where’s the kitchen?” Sammy wondered aloud.

“I think there’s a shared kitchen,” Harry explained. “For everyone in the complex.”

Sammy wrinkled her nose. “If the Cannons weren’t such a joke on the field, I bet their players would be treated better and at least given their own kitchen.” She looked around, “Maybe we should talk to some neighbors.”

“We can’t,” Harry said. “They’ve a game in Leicester tomorrow, so no one would be around.”

“Right,” Sammy nodded. “Well, we’ve got the letters and the picture anyway. We should go talk to Adeena.”

Harry looked at his watch, and noted it was nearly seven in the evening. “Yes,” he agreed. “She lives in the flat above Quality Quidditch Supplies.”

“You realize there are now two links in this case,” Sammy pointed out.

“Hmmm?” Harry asked, distracted because he was trying to determine if his stomach pain was hunger or nerves.

“Either someone’s targeting people who work in a quidditch-related field, or they’re targeting lesbians.”

“Oh, right.” Harry said, having just realized that eating was the last thing he felt like doing. “I thought about that. But it seems like Margaret wasn’t really out, was she?”

“People still know,” Sammy said. “They have ways of figuring this stuff out.”

Harry didn’t say anything, instead noting to himself the irony of Sammy having said that while continuing to flirt with him.  “Maybe. But it seems Margaret told her sister quite a lot of things, and she failed to mention being a lesbian to her. So, to me anyway, quidditch seems a more likely link.” Harry noticed Sammy looked skeptical so he added, “Look. I’m not ruling it out. I’m definitely keeping my mind open to the lesbian link - but I don’t want to make any assumptions about it one way or the other. Let’s just talk to Adeena and see what she says.”

They apparated to Diagon Alley, and walked up the flight of stairs to the flat over Quality Quidditch Supplies. Harry knocked lightly on the door.

Adeena answered, her eyes red rimmed. It appeared that she had been crying much of the day. She looked entirely unsurprised to see Harry standing there.

“Hi,” Harry said. “I’d like to ask you a few more questions.”

Adeena nodded and silently let them in. They followed her to the kitchen and sat across the table from her.

“I know what you want to know.” Adeena said flatly.

Harry pulled out the photo of the her and Margaret dancing and kissing and placed it in front of her. Sammy placed the letters from Adeena next to the photo. “You weren’t completely honest with me about your relationship with Margaret.” Harry said. His voice was matter-of-fact, non-judgmental in order to make Adeena feel comfortable.

“I know,” Adeena said flatly.

Harry and Sammy exchanged looks. “Why?” Harry asked.

Adeena looked at them, her eyes pleading for understanding. “My parents are....very Slytherin about the whole thing. They are among those who are very vocally anti-gay. To them, gays are only one notch above muggle-borns, who they don’t care much for either.”

“Were you aware that Madam Hooch is also gay?” Sammy asked.

Adeena nodded.

“You realize that if we hadn’t figured out that Margaret is also gay, we could have missed out on a possible link between the cases?”

Adeena sobbed, “I’m sorry,”

Harry began to feel a little agitated, “Right, but you lied to an Auror. Lying to an Auror in a murder investigation could lead us down the wrong path. Others could be murdered if we don’t have all the information we need.”

Adeena broke down, and Sammy leaned forward and patted her hand. “It’s OK,” she said soothingly. “I know you want us to catch Margaret’s killer.”

“I d-d-do,” Adeena insisted. “I’m just so scared that this will become public.”

Harry’s agitation immediately ceased. He understood her, the desire to keep being gay out of the public eye. He leaned in a little, “Why does it need to be private?” he asked gently.

“My parents,” Adeena said. “I think they would disown me. Once it came out that Margaret is gay, I’m sure they’d figure it out, all the time we spent together. Evenings I spent with her when she was in town. Times I’d go visit her flat in Chudley.”

Harry and Sammy glanced at each other. “Adeena,” Sammy said quietly, then stopped. She looked honestly stumped at what to say next.

Harry was feeling uncomfortably sympathetic toward Adeena. Then he suddenly remembered, “Did Margaret say anything to you about an interview?”

Adeena looked confused, “Interview?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Harry said, opening Margaret’s planner. “See here? It says she had an interview.”

“She never told me about it.” Harry crooked his eyebrow at her. “Honestly,” she insisted. “This time I’m being completely honest. She never said anything.”

“How was your relationship?” Harry asked. “Were you happy? Did you fight a lot?”

“We were mostly happy,” Adeena said. “When we fought, it was over keeping our relationship a secret. Margaret didn’t care about secrecy, see. I wanted to move in together, but I told her it’d have to be a two bedroom flat so my parents wouldn’t suspect. She refused to move in with me until I put her feelings ahead of my parents’ feelings.” Adeena stood up. “Be right back,” she said.

Harry and Sammy waited silently for a few moments. Adeena came back in the room carrying a stack of parchment. “Here are the letters she wrote me. It was...a frequent topic in our letters.”

Harry added the stack of Adeena’s letters to Margaret’s. “We’ll get these back to you.” he promised, standing up to leave.

As he and Sammy walked out onto Diagon Alley, Sammy asked, “So what do you think?”

“I think her parents sound like arseholes,” Harry said. “I want them questioned.”

“You think they did this?”

“No,” Harry said. “But if there is a lesbian connection, they might be able to point us in a direction to some anti-gay wizard networks.”

“Merlin,” Sammy said. “Some people just have to find a group to be bigoted against. If it’s not the muggles, it’s muggleborns. If it’s not the muggleborns, it’s the gays. It’s just pathetic.”

“I wish it was _just_ pathetic,” Harry said. “It’s also dangerous.”

____

****

When they got back to Harry’s office, Ron and Jeffers were still there, silently going through the interviews. Harry filled them in on what they’d found, and what Adeena said. Both Ron and Jeffers agreed that interviewing Adeena’s parents was a good idea, and that Harry and Ron could do in the following morning.

“It’s nine o’clock,” Jeffers announced. “My wife will have my balls if I don’t get home in time to tuck the wee ones into bed.”

Sammy looked at Harry, “Should we grab a bite and keep talking about the case then?” She smiled brightly.

“Er...no. I’m going to take these letters home and read through them.” He held up the letters from Colleen, from Margaret’s flat, and from Adeena.

“Oh, all right, then. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Sure, tomorrow.” Harry said as she walked out.

“Do you need to get home to Hermione and Rose?” Harry asked Ron.

Ron scowled, “Look at this owl I just got from Hermione,” he said.

Harry opened the piece of parchment Ron handed him and read aloud, _“Ron. I put Rosie down in her cradle by the front door while I used the bathroom. I came out and she was sound asleep. If you come in the front door, you’ll wake her and I’ll never forgive you. I’ll send you another owl when you can come home.”_ Harry looked up at Ron, amused.

“Rosie doesn’t sleep well,” Ron explained. “Therefore, Hermione doesn’t sleep well and she gets a little grumpy.”

Harry laughed, “Come on over to my place then. Neville had a study session with his fifth years for their upcoming O.W.L.’s but he should be back by now.”

Ron agreed and they apparated to Harry’s front stoop.

As they walked in, Harry said to Ron, “Wait here a minute,” and ran down the hall and called up the stairs, “Neville?” There was no answer and Harry peeked down to the kitchen, “Neville?” Harry looked at Ron, “You can come on in,”

“What was that about?” Ron asked.

Harry shrugged, “Wanted to see if Neville was here.”

“Right, but..er..why couldn’t I come in?”

“Oh,” Harry looked vaguely embarrassed, “We don’t always, you know, wear clothes around the house.”

Ron stared at him momentarily, “You guys walk around naked?”

Harry shrugged, “Sometimes. Right after a shower most often.”

“That’s,” Ron paused. “Hermione’d never let me get away with that!”

“Is that a girl thing?” Harry asked. “Because Ginny was the same way. Two minutes after a shower, she’d say, ‘put some clothes on.’”

“You’ve got the right idea, then. Being gay. Don’t you mate?”

Harry smiled as he lead Ron to the kitchen. He threw the stack of letters he’d brought from the office onto the table and opened a few cabinets. “We don’t have much to eat,” he admitted, pulling a bag of crisps out and handing them to Ron.

“This is good,” Ron said, tearing the bag open “I love muggle crisps.”

Harry pulled two butterbeers out of the fridge, opened one and handed it to Ron and then opened one for himself. “I forgot to tell you about Margaret Murphy’s sister,” he said.

“You told me about her. She’s a teenager and a mum already.”

“Right, but her baby is a wizard.” Harry explained it to Ron. That their Grandmother had been a witch who attended Hogwarts, and that Colleen didn’t want their parents to find out, and wanted help in figuring out how to help Kevin.

“Is there anything out there to help her?” Harry asked.

Ron shrugged, “Not that I know of. If the baby is magic, and eight months is awfully young to have magic, but it’s not unheard of, he’d be automatically listed for Hogwarts admission eleven years from now. Hermione has access to that list through the Muggle Liaison Office. I’ll have her look into it, and see if there’s any help available for muggle-borns this young.”

“Thanks,” Harry said. “I’d like to get both of them out of that house. It’s not safe for the baby, definitely, but I don’t think Colleen is up to supporting him on her own.” Harry looked down at the bundle of letters. “Let’s start going through these. Do you want the Adeena and Margaret pile or the Colleen and Margaret pile?” he asked Ron.

Ron shrugged, “Whichever.”

Harry handed Ron the pile of letters between Adeena and Margaret, then took the letters between Colleen and Margaret and began sorting them into date order. He figured it would be easier to read them as a conversation, rather than all of Colleen’s followed by all of Margaret’s.

Harry began reading. The letters began just after Margaret had left Hogwarts.  The first letter began, _Happy eighth birthday, Colleen! I’m having the owl deliver this letter at night in hopes that mummy and daddy don’t throw it away like they did the last one. I hope you like the gift I’ve attached. I have some good news! I got a job. I’m working for a quidditch team, the Chudley Cannons. Quidditch is a sport that wizards play on brooms. If mummy and daddy let me, I will take you to a game sometime. Love, Margaret._

The initial letters were mostly in that vein. A few letters in, Harry’s heart ached for Colleen as Margaret had to inform her that if she wasn’t magical by age nine, she would not be going to Hogwarts. As Colleen got older, the letters got longer. Colleen telling Margaret with frank honesty about their father’s drinking, their mother’s nervousness, and her school’s insistence on ignoring the state of Colleen’s clothes. The next letter mentioned that the new clothes Margaret sent Colleen were thrown in the fire by their father, who told Colleen that she didn’t need the devil’s charity. _But_ , Colleen wrote, he’d had a lot to drink at that point. _When daddy’s sober he never says things like that about you._

Margaret was clearly having no excuses. _If daddy says that about me when he’s drunk, then that’s what he thinks. I’m sorry he burnt the clothes I sent. I’m sending you a few pounds of muggle money. You can use it to buy something for yourself. Don’t tell them where you got the money - just say you’ve picked up a babysitting job in the village._

While Harry was busy looking for horcruxes, Margaret had done some research on her family’s wizarding ties, which she’d detailed to Colleen in letters. _Colleen - I’ve never told you this, but there is a lot of prejudice in the wizarding world against people born to Muggles. I had to do some research - which I will tell you about later - but it turns out that Mum’s mum was a witch! She spent five years at Hogwarts, but never finished. She wasn’t very talented I guess, because she failed to get any O.W.L.s (Ordinary Wizarding Levels. Which are tests we have to take at the end of fifth year to continue at school). If I can not prove to a Commission that there is magical blood in my family, I may be sent to Azkaban, the wizard prison. I don’t know if the research I’ve done is enough. If you have time, could you check the boxes in the cellar that mum kept after granny died? If you can find anything - ANYTHING at all- that has to do with her being a witch, please let me know immediately. My freedom could depend on it. Much love, Margaret._

Colleen’s answer came the next day, _Margaret, I checked the boxes and there is a whole box of Granny’s witch stuff! Even her wand, which is in a box marked “Ollivander’s.” I think you told me that’s where you got your wand too, right? There are also homework pages and a note telling her that because she did not pass any of her Ordinary Wizarding Levels, that she is unable to enroll at Hogwarts and that if she needs help securing a job that doesn’t require O.W.Ls, they will be happy to assist her. What should I do with this stuff?_

Margaret’s response: _Keep the stuff in your room. I am coming tonight at midnight and will pick it up. If mum and dad are still awake, close your curtains. When they fall asleep open the curtains and I will knock on your window. Colleen - if I am found to be guilty, you won’t hear from me for a while, and some dark wizards may come after you and mummy and daddy and accuse you of stealing magic. Tonight I will put every protection I know on the house to keep you safe, and I am making a two-mile radius around our house unplottable, which means wizards will be unable to get apparition coordinates for the house. I will talk to you more tonight about the steps you need to take to keep yourself safe, and we will make up a plan for your escape if anyone comes. Just know this - I don’t care really if mummy and daddy are safe, I only care about you. So if someone comes, I will be asking you to run on your own. I think you are very brave and will be able to handle it. I will see you at midnight tonight. Much love, Margaret._

Harry looked at the date of that letter. Margaret’s next letter came only a few days later. _Colleen, my trial was a success. The vote was 4 to 1 in favor of letting me off. The one no vote was from a woman named Dolores Umbridge. She’s very powerful and very scary. I will be leaving the protections on the house up just in case she comes, or sends any of her henchmen. Remember what we talked about. If a wizard or witch other than myself gets within five hundred meters of the house, a caterwauling charm will go off and you are to go and hide in the location we talked about. Leave Mum and Dad. Do not try to save them._

A few more letters, detailing the girls lives, when Harry got to a letter from Colleen detailing her new boyfriend, Ioan Myles.   _He’s nice to me, Margaret._ Colleen wrote, _I think he’s the boy I’m going to marry one day._

Margaret was having none of that. _Colleen, you are only sixteen years old. You need to finish school before you go and get married. Don’t do anything hasty just to get out of the house. I told you, as soon as you reach the age of majority and mum and dad can’t do anything about it, you are coming to live with me._

In the following letter, Colleen broke the news of her pregnancy. _Mum didn’t say anything, she just cried. Dad called me all the bad names in the book, but I don’t care. Ioan is getting a job in the mine and he’s going to marry me. We’ll have a small flat owned by the mining company and raise our little baby to be happier than mummy and daddy have made us._

Harry’s heart ached for Colleen as, over the next few letters, she detailed Ioan’s job search which led him to Wales, where he promised to send for Colleen as soon as he was settled. Then in another letter when Colleen’s mother had visited Ioan’s mother to inquire his whereabouts, and Ioan’s mother had said she sent him to live with an Aunt in Wales, to keep him from ending up with trash like the Murphy family.

As Harry finished up the letters, he looked up at Ron, who was concentrating hard on a letter in his pile. Ron looked up, “I’m getting a feel for who Margaret was as a person, but nothing in any of these letters about an interview.” He shook his head, “I get a feeling that there is something we just aren’t getting.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed sullenly, “I get the same feeling.”

“I don’t know,” Ron said. “It might be worth it to interview Adeena’s parents. By the sounds of these letters, they are really vehemently anti-gay.  There are fights between Margaret and Adeena that span weeks of letters. Adeena wanted to move in together, but get a two bedroom flat so her parents wouldn’t suspect. And Margaret said that she wasn’t willing to live a lie like that at all. Either they were going to live together openly, or not live together at all. Adeena never gathered the courage to tell her parents. I mean, why did Margaret even stay in that relationship at all?”

Harry shrugged, “Same reason Neville stayed with me this past year, I suppose. Always hoping that person will come around.”

Ron looked at Harry with interest, “You arse.”

“What?” Harry asked, smiling despite not knowing whether or not Ron was being serious.

“You complete arse,” Ron reiterated. “Neville’s too nice to be treated like that.” Ron held up the letters, “Like Adeena treated Margaret. I’m sorry, but Margaret deserved a lot better than Adeena, who just strung the poor girl along for years. So, you did that to Neville. You’re an arse.”

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes, “I told _you_ , didn’t I? I told you and Hermione and that was a big deal for me.”

“Yeah, but-”

Ron was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening and Neville calling out, “Harry?”

“Kitchen!” Harry shouted back.

Neville came into the kitchen, shedding his robes which were covered in soil. “Hi,” he said, pausing as he noticed Ron sitting there.  Neville held up his hands, which were covered in dirt and mud. “I need to wash up.” He went over to the sink and began scrubbing his hands.

“Everything OK?” Harry asked. He knew when Neville had a bad day at work, his response was to go overboard working in the greenhouses. When Neville came home this dirty, it was usually because his day at Hogwarts had been pretty awful.

“Hm? Oh yeah, I just have the absolute worst class of fifth years. Not a single one who gives a damn about herbology. Professor Sprout warned me about this class when I took over last year. She warned me that it was the most difficult year she’d ever encountered. Usually most students aren’t terribly interested in Herbology, but generally you can find some who are interested in it because of its importance in making potions and in healing. But nope, not this class.”  Neville went to the icebox and pulled out a butterbeer, opened it and took a long deep drink. “But enough about me,” he sat down heavily on the seat, “What are you doing here, Ron? Shouldn’t you be helping out with the baby?”

Ron rolled his eyes and explained the situation with a finally sleeping Rosie, which made Neville laugh with delight.

While Ron was telling the story, Harry began slowly flipping through the letters to and from Colleen and Margaret. Neville gave him a sideways glance, “What’d you eat for dinner?” he asked.

Harry looked up, “Nothing. I’m not hungry.”

“You should eat,” Neville insisted.

“I said I’m not hungry,” Harry lied. He was hungry, but the thought of putting any food on top of the bile that was churning through his stomach seemed less than pleasant.

Neville looked for a moment like he was going to argue, before settling back in his seat, “Fine.”

Ron looked between Neville and Harry quickly, looking as though he was unsure what to say. There was a moment of silence before Neville said, “So how’s the case?”

Harry and Ron gave him a quick update of what had been going on. Neville was as unsure as the other two over whether or not the actual link between the two was quidditch or that they were lesbians, or if both were a coincidence.

After hours of talking, and making lists of what they knew and what they needed to know, and deciding on other people to interview, an owl tapped gently on the window. Harry got up to go to the owl and read the attached letter, “Rose is awake,” he told Ron. “You can go home.”

Ron stood up, “Listen, mate. I’ll be coming into the office and working on this with you.”

“But Hermione-” Harry began.

“She’ll understand. Blimey, Harry. People are being murdered. You don’t think I can sit at home and watch Hermione take care of Rosie. I want Rosie to grow up in a world where this murderer’s been caught. I’m coming in to work with you.”

“Thanks,” Harry murmured.

Ron bade Neville and Harry a good night, and took the floo back to his flat.

“I’m exhausted,” Harry said. “I’m going to bed.” He started up the stairs.

“Why don’t you eat something first?” Neville asked.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I just have this pain right here,” Harry turned toward Neville and pointed to his upper abdomen, “And it travels all the way up my chest and settles right here,” he moved his finger to the dip where his throat meets his chest. “Food won’t sit well.”

“I have an herb for that,” Neville offered.

Harry smiled sardonically, “Of course you do.”

“I’ll bring it home tomorrow.”


	10. The Pub

 

For several days, Harry, Ron, Sammy, and Jeffers were holed up in Harry’s office, going over all the pieces of evidence, reading and re-reading the notes left on the bodies, and only leaving occasionally to conduct interviews. They were getting nowhere.

The Prophet was leaning on Kingsley for answers. Kingsley had taken to stopping by several times a day to see if they’d found anything new.

“If it wasn’t for these notes,” Harry said, “I’d think that this was an absolutely unsolvable case. But these notes were left for a reason and I can’t, for the life of me, figure this out!” It wasn’t the first time any of them made a comment like that.

Four days after the murder of Margaret Murphy, Arthur Weasley stepped into Harry’s office. “Harry,” he said urgently. “There’s been an accident. Andromeda slipped and fell at her house, and landed on her wand which was in her pocket. Something went off and she’s unable to move her legs. She’s at St. Mungo’s right now, and Molly’s watching Teddy at the Burrow.”

“Merlin,” Harry stood up. “Will Andromeda be all right?” he asked.

Arthur shrugged, “I don’t know. I haven’t heard any updates, but Molly said Teddy is pretty frightened.”

Harry looked at the others, “I have to go take care of this,” he said to the others in the room. “I’ll be back later.”

Harry had always known that he was going to have to take increasing responsibility for Teddy’s upbringing. The war had left Andromeda not only with a harsh shoulder injury, but also a widow and childless, and as much as she adored Teddy, she relied very hard on the weekends Harry was able to take the boy so she could rest up.

Harry jogged toward the Ministry floos, grabbed a pinch of floo powder and said, “The Burrow.” He was whisked away to The Burrow. He called, “Mrs. Weasley?” as he climbed out of their fireplace.

“In the kitchen, Harry dear,” she called back.

Harry made his way to the kitchen, where Molly was stirring food in a pot with one hand, and holding baby Louis, Bill and Fleur’s second child, in the other. Teddy was sitting at the table, going over alphabet cards with Victoire. “D is for Dumbledore,” he was saying to her, holding up a card that had a D on it, which morphed into the face of Albus Dumbledore.  Teddy looked up as Harry walked in. “Harry!” he called, standing up and running to Harry. Teddy hugged Harry around the legs, squeezing him hard at the knees.

“Teddy-bear,” Harry said happily, picking Teddy up and giving him a hug. Teddy’s hair was a mousy brown, a sure sign that he was upset about something. As Harry hugged him though, it began to lighten up a little “Tell me what happened today.”

Harry sat down in a chair and held Teddy on his lap. Teddy leaned his head against Harry’s chest and sighed wearily. “Grandma got hurt.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Well,” Teddy began, “I was in the living room, playing with my miniature gobstones - you know the ones you bought me for my birthday - and I heard something crash in the kitchen then a loud bang.  I was scared, but Grandma called for me and I went to see her and she felled over on the floor. She couldn’t get up, and I was crying, but she told me to be brave. She asked me for a piece of parchment and a quill and to get her old owl, Mr. Featherworth. She wroted a note and sent it to someone, then some healers came and had her tooken to St. Mungo’s.”

“How did you end up here?” Harry asked.

“One of the healers stayed with me, and Grandma told him to owl Mrs. Weasley. So they did and she flooed over to pick me up.”

“It sounds like you were very brave,” Harry said to Teddy.

Teddy nodded seriously, “Yes I was. But I’m still worried about Grandma.”

“Well, I’m going to go visit her at St. Mungo’s later today. I’ll talk to the healers and I’m sure they will get your Grandma fixed up in no time.”

“You promise?”

“I can’t promise, but St. Mungo’s has very good healers,” Harry assured him. “If your Grandma needs extra time to rest, you can come stay with me for a while.”

“Really?” Teddy sounded hopeful.

“Of course,” Harry said. “Let me talk to Mrs. Weasley for a few minutes and we’ll work out when we’ll get you to Grimmauld Place.”

Teddy went back to working on the alphabet cards with Victoire, “E is for Expelliarmus!” he said to her showing her the next card.

Molly ushered Harry to the sitting room, and put baby Louis down in a bouncy seat.  “It doesn’t look good for Andromeda,” she told Harry in a hushed whisper, pulling him away from the door so Teddy wouldn’t overhear. “I got an owl update right before you got here. They can’t figure out what happened with her wand when she landed on it. She may never be able to walk again.”

“Merlin,” Harry said. He tented his fingers in front of his mouth. “OK. So what do we do? Teddy can stay with me. We’ll have to find somewhere for Andromeda to live though. She can’t live in Grimmauld Place - there are too many stairs. Same with her house.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Molly said to Harry. “Let’s just worry about getting Teddy settled.”

“Right,” Harry nodded. “Can he stay here for one night? Neville’s administering O.W.Ls for his fifth years tonight and my hours have been long since these murders. But Neville will have more time starting this weekend, and in one week he’ll be home for the summer holiday.”

Molly looked a little concerned, “Harry. Maybe you should talk to Neville before volunteering him for this. Just because he’s your roommate doesn’t mean he’d be willing to do your babysitting.”

“Oh. Er....” Harry said. “About that.”

“About what?” Molly asked.

Harry’s throat went momentarily dry. “The..er...Neville situation. He’s not really just my roommate.”

“What do you mean?”

Harry heart started pounding in his chest. Mrs. Weasley was the closest thing he’d ever remembered having as a mum. The idea of telling her hadn’t crossed his mind until this very moment, but it seemed like now was the moment he had to tell her. “Neville and I are...together.” She looked a little blankly at him, so he continued, “Like, in a relationship?” he added, squirming a little inside at how his voice raised at the end of the sentence, as though he were asking a question, asking for her permission to be gay.

“Oh!” Mrs. Weasley looked shocked. “Oh!” she said again. “So you’re gay then?”

“Yes,” Harry said, relieved suddenly. “And Neville will be on board with Teddy coming. I know it.”

“Right.” Molly nodded, “All right.” She looked at Harry, and it seemed very much like she wanted to say something but was holding it in.

Harry looked at her awkwardly, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.” He shoved his hands in his pants pockets and glanced at the ground. As much as he loved Molly Weasley, she did sometimes make him feel like an adolescent again.

“Well, you don’t owe me an explanation,” Molly said quickly.

“I just hadn’t really told anyone up until recently.” Harry said. “We’re trying to keep it out of The Prophet.”

“Oh, well I can understand that,” Mrs. Weasley said pleasantly. “Are you happy?”

“Yes,” Harry said, nodding.

“Well then I’m happy for you. And now I don’t feel like I have to hide from you that Ginny is going to be home next week. The Harpies have a hiatus in games and a few days off from practice, so she’s coming and she’s bringing a new boyfriend.”

“Good.” Harry said. “I’m really happy for her.”

“I assume this was behind your breakup, then?”

“Yes. She promised not to tell anyone. But I’d love to see her when she’s here.”

As Molly opened her mouth to answer, a streak of silver came bounding into the sitting room. It was Kingsley’s patronus, a lynx. Kingsley’s voice boomed out, “Harry, there’s been another murder. Meet us in the Ministry lobby as soon as possible.”

Harry and Molly looked at each other, matching looks of horror on their faces. “I should go,” Harry said after a moment of panicked silence.

“Yes,” Molly insisted. “Teddy can stay here tonight.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry said gratefully, giving her a quick hug.

Harry went back to the kitchen, he knelt down in front of Teddy. “Teddy, I have to go back to work now.  You’re going to stay the night here, and Neville will come pick you up tomorrow. Does that sound good?”

Teddy looked a bit unhappy, but he nodded. Molly, noticing the look on Teddy’s face, added, “Maybe Victoire would like to stay here with you tonight?”

Victoire looked excited and nodded her white-blond head eagerly. “Oh, yes Grandmama. I would like to stay with Teddy.”

“Harry, you get back to work. I’ve got Teddy.”

Harry gave Teddy a quick kiss on top of the head, another on top of Victoire’s and, a quick hug for Molly before dashing back to the fireplace to floo back to the Ministry.

As soon as his feet hit the ground, Kingsley and Ron met him and took him back outside the visitor’s entrance. “It’s only a few blocks from here, you need to be in muggle clothes.”

“What happened?” Harry asked as he pulled his Auror Robes off and left them with the front desk wizard.

“Two muggles were murdered, but it’s got all the trappings of being our guy.”

Kingsley was walking quickly and Ron was keeping pace, but Harry’s legs, several inches shorter than either Kingsley’s or Ron’s, had to go at a jog to keep up. “It’s a double murder. Two men were murdered in a flat above a pub. The pub owner is the one who found them and alerted the muggle authorities. We have contacts in the muggle police force in London, people who know to look for the killing curse scar, which is how we were alerted.”

A few minutes later, they were standing outside a pub, which had been cordoned off with yellow caution tape. Kingsley looked around and waved to a tall black woman, who seemed to be in charge of the investigation. “Ah,” she said walking over to them. “My special forces are here.”

She lifted up the police tape and Harry, Ron and Kingsley ducked underneath. Kingsley introduced them, “Melissa, this is Ron Weasley and Harry Potter, two of our Aurors. This is Melissa Bainbridge, she has a sister who is a witch, so she’s been our muggle contact for years.

They followed Melissa up the stairs to the flat. She started talking, “I told the other officers that the green marks indicated a poison and we were waiting on you, our poison specialists. We’ll need some of those memory modifier people out here so they forget about this investigation. I’ll handle talking to the families.”

They reached the landing. From the top of the stairs, there were two doors leading to two flats. The door to the left was closed, but the door to the right was ajar, and Harry could see a pair of feet sticking out, and Melissa led them over. “I’ll stand by the door here, you guys do what you need to.”

“Thanks,” Harry said as he walked past her and into the flat. He carefully stepped over the body in the doorway.

The three of them looked down at the man, who looked to be about Harry and Ron’s age. He had brown hair, which had been stylishly gelled into a spiky crown. He was wearing only a towel draped around his waist. The green scar was clearly visible in the center of his chest. There was a look of surprise on his face.

The other man was well into the flat, several feet away and was completely nude. He was lying dead on his stomach, the green scar clearly visible on the upper left side of his back.

A note lay on his back. The same paper, the same green ink, the same handwriting as the other notes.  This one read:

Our time turners, excellent readers.

“This mean anything to either of you?” Harry asked Ron and Kingsley. They shook their heads no. “Ron, why don’t you take this back to the office. You and Sammitt can start working on cracking it. Put all the notes together and see what you come up with.”

“Right,” Ron said, taking the note from Harry. “I’ll see you back at the office.”

Harry did a quick search around the flat and found two wallets. He looked through them for identification. “This guy,” Harry pointed to the nude man, “is Clark Everett. And the guy by the door is Brooks Fairchild. This is Brooks’ address.”

“Harry,” Kingsley said in a soft voice. “We can’t deny any longer that gays are being targeted.”

“I know.” He paused, “Damn. I really thought it was a coincidence. I really didn’t want to have to out Margaret Murphy after her death.”

“We have to tell people now.”

“Yes,” Harry agreed. “We’ll work on a statement for the Prophet in a bit. But for now, I’m going to go interview the bloke who found these guys. And do some searching around here.”

“He’s down in the pub,” Kingsley said. “He’s pretty shaken up.”

Harry and Kingsley followed Melissa down the hall. “Our obliviators should be here by now,” Kingsley told her. I’ll go have a word with them and then we’ll get your guys’ memories modified.” He turned to Harry, “Have you got a hold on the interview?”

“Yes,” Harry said. “I’ll meet you back at the office.”

Harry watched for a moment as Kingsley and Melissa stepped outside before he followed and walked through the door of the pub.

There was only one person in the pub. A man was sitting at the bar, a drink - what appeared to be whiskey- in front of him. He was sipping it slowly, staring forlornly at the top of the bar.

“Hello,” Harry interrupted. The looked up in surprise. “I’m Harry Potter,” Harry stepped forward to shake his hand. “I’m in charge of the investigation.”

“Oh,” the man looked a little confused. “I thought Detective Inspector Bainbridge was working on it.”

“It’s a case that falls under my jurisdiction,” Harry explained, hoping there would be no further questions.

“All right,” the man said agreeably. “What do you need to know?”

“You found the bodies, correct?”

“Yes. I live in the other flat upstairs and when I came up this morning, I saw that Brooks’ door was opened a little. So I was going to call in to him, but then I saw him body lying there. And I peeked in and saw Clark as well.”

“What time was that?”

“About nine this morning. I stayed at my girlfriend’s house last night.”

“When’s the last time you saw either Clark or Brooks alive?”

“Last night. Brooks is one of my bartenders here,” the man patted the bar top, “and he was working. Clark came in close to midnight, and a few minutes later I let Brooks off work. He and Clark went upstairs.”

“Did you see anyone else go up the stairs?” Harry asked.

“No. I wouldn’t have been able to,” the man explained. “I was behind the bar, and to get upstairs to the flats, you have to go outside and up through the next door.”

Harry stood behind the bar and checked out the line of vision from there. “I see what you mean. How well did you know Brooks and Clark?”

“I’ve known Brooks for years. He started working for me about three years ago, and shortly after that began renting the flat from me. He’d been with Clark for maybe the last six months? Maybe more than that, but I didn’t meet Clark until about six months ago.”

“Were you close with them?”

The man shrugged, his eyes filled with tears. “I didn’t know Clark well, but he seemed nice. I was Brooks’ boss and his landlord, but I considered him a friend. I liked him quite a lot.”

“Did anyone seem to have problems with Brooks?”

“No. No one. He was good at his job and our regulars all liked him too.”

“Were there a lot of people who came in and out of Brooks’ flat?”

“No. He had visitors sometimes. Just friends. But recently it had been mostly Clark who was there.”

“Do you know if his family approved of him being gay?”

The man gave him an odd look. “Do you think this was a hate crime?”

Harry shrugged, “I’m working on a similar case, and it appears there may be a link.”

The man sighed, “I don’t know a lot about his family, but he never expressly mentioned anyone having a problem with him being gay.”

“What about Clark?”

“I didn’t know him that well.”

“Is your bar, er,” Harry paused, “Is it considered a gay bar?”

“No. It’s just a regular pub. If someone was going to target gays, they’d have much better luck elsewhere.”

“Can you think of anything you saw or heard last night that was unusual?”

The man thought for a moment, “Now that you mention it. There was a very strange woman on the street last night. There was something just a bit off about her.”

“How so?” Harry asked, his curiosity piqued.

The man stood up, “Come stand with me behind the bar.”Harry stood next to him. “You see the view from the window?” the man asked.

“Yes.”

“Well, you see how there’s a little nook in this corner - where my building meets the store next door?”

“Yes,” Harry said again.

“Normally people hang out in that nook. They have a smoke or wait for friends there, or check their voicemail messages, call people.”

“All right...” Harry said, wondering where this was going.

“Well last night, right about ten o’clock, I notice a woman standing in that little corner. But it was weird, because it’s usually there are a handful of people standing there, but last night there was just the one woman and it seemed like people were being repelled from the corner. I dunno, maybe she had awful body odor. But there was a lull in people to serve at the bar, so I watched for a few minutes, and people would head toward the corner, but then turn away when they got near. And they wouldn’t even look at this woman, and she was a strange one, I tell you that.”

Harry leaned toward him, his heart beating a little faster, hoping and believing that this was the moment he might just figure this mystery out. “What’d she look like?”

“She had this curly brown hair, all piled up on top of her head. But you know how women who dye their hair blonde and they don’t dye it for a while will have brown roots? Well, this woman’s hair was the opposite. It was brown and curly, with white roots. And I’ve never heard of a girl who wants her hair to be less blond. Then there were her clothes.”

Harry had an idea what was coming next, and he was starting to become aware of exactly what the situation was. “What were her clothes?” he asked.

“She was wearing what looked like choir robes. And they were bright magenta, and she had these cats eye glasses that were green and sparkly. And you know what she was doing?”

“Huh?” Harry asked, as the realization hit him like a ton of bricks. He was staring, wide-eyed at the man talking to him, shocked as the pieces of the puzzle began falling into place.

“She was writing in a notebook, but she was using a feather quill. Like some kind of Victorian weirdo.”

Harry’s breath caught, “Son of a bitch,” he whispered,  “I let her go.”

The man looked at him critically, “Do you know her?”

“Yes,” Harry nodded. “Yes. I know exactly who you are talking about.” Harry grabbed his auror’s bag, “I have to go.”

“Wait! What should I do?” the man asked.

Harry took a moment to gather his thoughts. “Right, sorry. I shouldn’t get ahead of myself.” Harry pulled out his notebook and muggle pen. “Could I get your name?”

“John Spence.”

“Mr. Spence, thank you for your help.” Harry scrawled Hermione’s mobile phone number, which she needed for her work in the Muggle Liaison office, on a piece of paper, “If you see that same woman again, call me immediately. Leave a message with the woman who answers this phone and she will get in touch with me. It’s absolutely imperative you call if you see her.”

“Yes, sir.” John said.

“And I’m finished upstairs.” Harry said. “You’ve been incredibly helpful, Mr. Spence. I’m going to have the coroners come get the bodies. We’ll be in touch if we need anything further.”

Harry dashed out of the pub and set out for the Ministry at a brisk pace. The who and the how of these murders was starting to click into place. The why was still a mystery. Another mystery is how John Spence, a muggle, was able to see through an obvious disillusionment charm. But that was a detail that could wait for later. Right now, Harry was angry at himself for letting Rita go when he saw her in Hogsmeade that first night after Madam Hooch’s body had been discovered. And he was angry at himself for not realizing the interview Margaret Murphy had put in her planner was not a job interview, but rather an interview with a reporter.

By the time Harry reached the Ministry, he was nearly sprinting. He got back to his office in time to see Ron and Sammy looked up at him in surprise. Before he got a chance to say anything to him, Ron said, “It’s you, mate.”

“What’s me?” Harry asked.

Ron held up the notes. “These notes are being written either for you, or about you.”

“I know who did it,” Harry said. “I know who’s writing the notes and who murdered these folks.”

“Who?” Ron and Sammy asked simultaneously.

“It’s Rita Skeeter.”


	11. Security for Neville

******  
  
**

After going to Rita Skeeter’s last listed address, and finding it abandoned, Harry, Ron, Sammy and Jeffers sprinted back to the Ministry, to get to Kingsley’s office. Kingsley’s assistant was sitting outside his office, filing pieces of parchment in several wooden boxes. “We need to see the Minister,” Harry gasped as they got to her desk.

The assistant raised a surprised eyebrow. “He should be back any moment. He’s with the obliviators at the scene of that muggle murder.”

“We’ll wait,” Harry and Jeffers said simultaneously.

“Um, all right.” the assistant said as she quietly went back to filing the parchment.

The four Aurors huddled together and began speaking quietly, “Fill me in on everything that happened,” Jeffers said to Harry.

Harry gave them a quick rundown of what John Spence had told him about the woman he saw near the pub, that he’d seen Rita Skeeter at the scene of the Hooch murder, but sent her away, and about his suspicion about the interview Margaret Murphy had scheduled. Harry turned to Ron and Sammy, “What about the notes?”

Sammy pulled them out of her robe pocket, “Ron and I realized it at once. Look at the first letter of each word - and remember to put the ‘a’ where the ampersand is.”

Harry looked at the notes, “ _Hints and recipes, read your prophet. Our time turners, excellent readers_.” Harry sighed “H-A-R-R-Y-P-O-T-T-E-R.”

“But why would she do it this way?” Sammy wondered aloud. “What is she trying to say?”

Harry and Ron glanced at each other. “She can’t write about me,” Harry explained. “She’s been put under a tongue-tying curse which prevents her from talking about me or writing about me. Obviously she’s trying to get around that.”

Jeffers and Sammy looked at Harry, eyes wide. “But why?” Sammy asked.

Harry shifted uncomfortably, “She broke into my house last year, and spent ten months in Azkaban for it.” Harry thought for a moment, “But she also had her memory modified, so I’m not sure what she’s playing at with these notes. She shouldn’t remember anything about it.”

Just as Kingsley walked in, Harry heard Sammy wondering quietly, “So the gay link is just a coincidence?” Harry didn’t bother to answer, though he and Ron exchanged another quick look.

“I hope that seeing you all here is good news,” Kingsley said, looking surprised to see four Aurors awaiting his return.

“Yes” Jeffers said. “Very good news.”

“Come into my office then,” Kingsley said, walking in and holding the door opened for the rest of them to file through.

Kingsley’s office was large, but surprisingly not very ornate. The office had two windows overlooking the city of London, though Harry knew that it was magic, not real windows as the Ministry was entirely underground. There was a very large wooden desk covered with parchment and a few photos of Kingsley’s wife, and several credenzas and file cabinets around the room. The walls were covered with portraits of past Ministers, up to Cornelius Fudge.

Two chairs were situated in front of Kingsley’s desk, and with a flick of his wand, Kingsley managed to conjure two more.

The four of them took their seats. “What is your news?” he asked, in his low cool voice.

With a quick glance at each other, Harry spoke up, “We know who’s the murderer. It’s Rita Skeeter.”

Kingsley sat for a few moments in silence, while they waited for him to think things through. Finally he said, “And the notes?”

Harry looked at Ron, and nodded his head slightly, indicating that he should be the one to explain it to Kingsley. “Oh, er...the notes are intended for Harry. Or, their intention is to be about Harry.”

Sammy handed the notes to Kingsley and said, “Look at the first letter of each word.”

Kingsley looked at the notes, then up at Harry. Their eyes met, but Harry couldn’t read Kingsley’s facial expression, couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“Very well,” Kingsley handed the notes back to Sammy. “In that case, I will need to speak to Potter in private.”

After a quick moment, Ron seemed to understand. “Right,” he said as he stood up. “We’ll meet you back in your office then, Harry.”

Sammy looked confused and Jeffers looked a little put-out at being dismissed, but Ron gave Harry a reassuring pat on the shoulder on his way out. When they were out, Kingsley looked at Harry. “So,” he said leaning forward and resting his arms on the desk, “How did you figure out it was Rita Skeeter?”

“The guy who owns the pub, John Spence, he saw her and he gave me an excellent description.” Harry explained what Mr. Spence had said to him, how Harry came to realize it was Rita Skeeter, and how he remembered seeing her at Hogsmeade the night of the Hooch murder. Kingsley looked pained at that memory as well. They had been so anxious to not have her hanging around the scene of a murder, creating havoc with the press, that they hadn’t bothered to ask her any questions.  “But one thing I don’t understand is that this Spence guy was able to see through her disillusionment charm. Obviously none of the other muggles could. And he’s not a wizard, because he thought her robe and her quill were odd.”

“Hmm,” Kingsley said, as he grabbed a piece of parchment, scratched out a quick note on it and charmed it. The note folded itself and flew out of the office. “I have an idea about that.” He looked back at Harry. “She was targeting gays,” he said.

“Yes,” Harry said quietly.

“We kept that quiet before, but I don’t think we can anymore.”

“No,” Harry agreed.

Kingsley leaned back and looked at Harry appraisingly, “So what do you want to do about it?”

Harry bit his lip. This had been on the back of his mind since he’d first seen the bodies this afternoon. It was time, he knew, to open up. Time to act like the Gryffindor he was. “Call a press conference this evening,” he told Kingsley. “I want all the press, not just _the Prophet,_ there. And I will address it.”

“Very well,” Kingsley said. He asked no further questions, which meant a great deal to Harry. It meant that Kingsley trusted Harry to do what was right, and what was necessary to get this case solved.

“Kingsley,” Harry began. “Wasn’t Rita Skeeter’s memory modified after she broke into my house last year?”

“Yes,” Kingsley said. “But obviously she’s figured something out, somehow.”

Harry didn’t say anything, as he began to realize that, had he been open about his relationship with Neville in the first place, these murders might not have happened.

There was a knock at the door, “Enter,” Kingsley boomed.

His assistant walked it, carrying a note. “This just came in.”

“Thank you, Patrice,” Kingsley said as Patrice walked out. “Ah, yes. Harry,” Kingsley said reading it over quickly.  “John Spence has some magic in him, but not enough to be considered a wizard. We keep track of folks like that.”

“That...that’s possible?” Harry asked.

“It’s fairly rare,” Kingsley explained, “but there are muggles who possess some magical properties. Most are seers, muggles call them psychics, and there are just enough fake-psychics in the muggle world to make all psychics questionable. Still a few more are self-taught legilimens, but without real magic behind it, they generally aren’t very skilled. A precious few, including John Spence, are able to see through weak disillusionment charms. So luck was on our side here, and it also means that Rita Skeeter is not able to cast a very strong disillusionment charm. She may have been able to fool average muggles, but she couldn’t fool Mr. Spence, whose magic is weak, and she won’t be able to hide from fully-qualified wizards.”

“How fortunate for us, then,” Harry said dryly, “that Rita Skeeter chose to murder the friend of a near-wizard who could see through her charm.”

“It is, though.” Kingsley said quietly. “It means that we can catch her before she does this again. That we can warn the wizarding world about it and everyone can be on high alert.”

“Speaking of high alert,” Harry said standing up. “Most of Neville’s work takes place in the greenhouses at Hogwarts, far away from the castle. He has only a week of classes left, but I want him guarded this next week. I’d really like him to get a subsitute teacher this next week, but I know him and he’ll never agree to it. I’m not confident that Rita doesn’t want to attack him.”

“Of course,” Kingsley said agreeably. “I’ll have a security wizard there in an hour, with a message to Minerva about it.”

“I’d better make a quick trip to Hogwarts to fill Neville in, and to let him know about Teddy.”

“I’ll set up the press conference,” Kingsley said. “Six o’clock?”

“Six sounds good,” Harry said. “I’ll see you then.”

______

****

Harry entered the grounds of Hogwarts on foot. Though his mood was foul, he couldn’t help but notice that it was a gorgeous day. The type of day he, Ron, and Hermione would have spent whiling away hours by the lake back in their own Hogwarts days.

Harry turned toward the greenhouses. There were five greenhouses total, and as he neared, he noted a group of fifth years in the second greenhouse, standing around tables, heads bent in their plants. The exam proctor was standing at the front, and Neville was standing watch at the back, not far from the greenhouse entrance.

Harry quietly opened the greenhouse door. Every single student and the proctor looked up. “I’m sorry,” Harry said quietly. “I need to see Professor Longbottom.”

The Proctor looked unhappy about it, but nodded toward Neville to go with Harry as the students looked on with interest.

Harry lead Neville into the next greenhouse. “What’s up?” Neville asked, pulling the door closed behind him.

Harry turned and opened his mouth, realizing that there was so much he needed to say and suddenly couldn’t find a way to say it. “I don’t want to take too much of your time,” he began.

“What’s going on, Harry?” Neville was beginning to look concerned.

“Two things,” Harry said. “First is that Andromeda’s had an accident and Teddy needs to come stay with us for a while.”

“What?” Neville asked. “Is she all right?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said. “I’ll visit her at St. Mungo’s tomorrow. I know you’re working late, so Teddy’s staying the night at The Burrow. We’ll get him for the weekend, then while you’re finishing up here next week, Mrs. Weasly can keep watching him.”

“Maybe you could take some time off next week?” Neville asked.

“I can’t,” Harry said. “This is the other thing I was going to tell you. Two more people were murdered. A muggle couple this time - two men. And we’ve figured out who’s doing it.”

Neville’s eyes widened, “What? Who?”

“It’s Rita Skeeter. And it’s a long story, Nev. But I have good reason to believe she could come after you next. So you’re going to have a security detail all next week while you’re here.”

“No,” Neville shook his head. “No, Harry. I’m a fully qualified wizard. I don’t need security.”

“Yes,”  Harry insisted.

“No,” Neville argued. “You think I can’t take care of myself?”

“Shit, Neville,” Harry said. His teeth were clenched, and he realized that, with the transparent walls, they were well in view of the students in the next greenhouse over. Harry glanced toward them and tried to compose himself. “Rita Skeeter is murdering people for some reason having to do with me. I can’t figure it out, but I...” He trailed off and took a deep breath. “If I hadn’t been so hell-bent on privacy this past year, four people would still be alive. And if she manages to get to you, I will never be able to forgive myself.”

Neville didn’t say anything for a moment, “It’s not your fault,” he said quietly.

Harry shrugged. “I’m pulling rank,” he told Neville fiercely. “I’m Harry Potter, I’m an Auror, I’m the boy who lived, and the God Damned savior of the wizarding world, and I say that you are having a security wizard assigned to you.” His voice grew gradually louder with each word.

“You’ve _never_ pulled rank before, Harry. You’ve never used your fame or your position for personal gain.”

“Yeah. Well, now I am. So I hope you realize how important this is to me.”

“Fine,” Neville sighed, rolling his eyes a bit at his acquiescence. “I’ll have security with me. But not in the castle, right?”

“Not in the castle,” Harry agreed. “Just while you’re outside, or in the greenhouses, and while you’re walking to and from the castle.”

“Anything else you need to tell me?” Neville asked, defeated.

“I’m holding a press conference on Rita Skeeter in a bit.”

“What are you going to say?”

Harry shrugged, and stared into the neighboring greenhouse, at the students there working diligently over their plants. “I haven’t entirely decided.”

“I support whatever it is you need to say, Harry. I hope you know that. Even if it means telling the entire wizarding world about us.”

Harry nodded in acknowledgement. “Here comes a security wizard,” he said to Neville, pointing toward the entrance. “Let’s go meet him.”

Harry and Neville made their way toward the wizard. Harry recognized him as one of the wizards who’d guarded Madam Hooch’s body the night she was murdered. Harry shook his hands, “Thanks for coming,” he said.

“Not a problem,” the wizard said. “My name’s Terrence Broadwater. Minister Shacklebolt told me to meet you here.”

“Right,” Harry said. “This is Professor Neville Longbottom,” Harry said, tilting his head toward Neville.

Neville and Broadwater shook hands, “Pleasure.”

Harry continued, “The Aurors have made a break in the Hooch murders, and our first suspect is Rita Skeeter. We have reason to believe that she may be trying to target Professor Longbottom. Because he is the Herbology Professor, he’s not protected by the walls of the castle. So while he’s in the greenhouses or in the gardens, we just need security patrols. And for him and his students to be escorted to and from the castle.”

“Right,” said Broadwater.

“Longbottom doesn’t live at the castle, so once he goes home for the night, you’re free to go as well.”

“Gotcha.”

“OK, gentlemen,” Harry said, rubbing his hands together. “I’m needed back at the Ministry.” He looked toward Neville, “I’ll see you tonight.”

Neville raised his eyebrows, “See you tonight, Harry.”

Harry walked toward the gate, and as soon as he stepped off the Hogwarts grounds, he disapparated back to the Ministry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is very nearly finished. New chapters should be out fairly quickly from here on out.


	12. Press Conference

At six o’clock that evening, Harry was waiting with Ron, Jeffers, Sammy and Kingsley to enter the press room at the Ministry. Kingsley had told him that reporters from most wizarding newspapers in Europe were in attendance, along with reporters from WWN (the _Wizarding Wireless Network_ ), and Xeno Lovegood from _The Quibbler_.

“Have you prepared a statement?” Kingsley asked.”

“Nope,” Harry said.

Ron looked at him, horrified. “What are you going to say?”

Harry shrugged, “I’m going to fly by the seat of my pants.” He bent down and pressed his fingers into his abdomen, hoping to calm a few of the butterflies that had taken up residence there.

“Are you nervous?” Sammy asked.

“I’m a Gryffindor,” was Harry’s non-answer response as he stood up straight and took a deep breath. The truth is that he was nervous. He was very nervous. Public speaking was not his strong point, and neither was answering very personal questions.

The door opened, and Harry walked through, flanked by Ron and Kingsley with Jeffers and Sammy behind him.

The press room was a small chamber with a grey stone floor. There were three rows of seats, all filled by reporters and cameramen. At the front of the room, facing the three rows of reporters, was a long table with five chairs. In the middle of the table, was a small lectern which bore the seal of the Ministry of Magic on its front.

Kingsley took his place behind the lectern, as Harry sat in the seat closest. Ron, Sammy and Jeffers filled the other seats. The buzzing of talking from the reporters died down almost instantly.

“Thank you for coming,” Kingsley said in his bold voice. “We’ve called this press conference to give you some information about the murders of Rolanda Hooch and Margaret Murphy, as well as two muggle men who were murdered last night, Clark Everett and Brooks Fairchild. The Auror in charge of this investigation is Harry Potter, so I will turn this press conference over to him.”

Kingsley nodded toward Harry, and sat in the seat Harry had just vacated. Harry stood behind the lectern, and tried to surreptitiously wipe his sweaty palms on his robes. “Thanks, Minister,” he said.  He cleared his throat, “As you know, approximately two weeks ago, Madam Rolanda Hooch was murdered in Hogsmeade as she was picking up a parcel from the owl post. And a few days later, Margaret Murphy was murdered in a room she was letting at the Leaky Cauldron. Notes, which until now, had not been released to the press were left on the bodies. Today two more bodies were discovered with a similar note. Those of a muggle couple, Clark Everett and Brooks Fairchild. These murders were identical, the only difference being that these were muggles who were murdered.

"While we worked and went down several dead-ends in this case, we were fortunate to break it open with the help of a neighbor and friend of one of the murdered muggles. So we are here to announce that we have a suspect in this case, and that it is the author and former _Daily Prophet_ correspondent, Rita Skeeter.”

The room buzzed with excitement, and flash bulbs started going off in Harry’s face. Harry heard questions flying at him left and right, but couldn’t make out any individual question. Finally he pointed to a reporter in the front row.

“Jean-Marc Francois,” he said, _“Actualités Magiques.”_ Harry recognized that as the French wizarding newspaper. “Were these murders random, or were the four victims targeted?”

“Skeeter was specifically targeting gays. But I don’t think she was targeting these four specific individuals.”

Harry pointed to Xeno Lovegood, “Are there any death eater connections?”

“No.” Harry answered. “None that we’ve been able to determine.”

He pointed to the _WWN_ reporter, “Do you have any idea why Skeeter was targeting gays?” The woman asked.

“Based on the codes that we’ve been able to discern from the notes she left, we have a clue. The notes were left for me, or rather they could have been about me.”

There was a moment, just a split second of silence, before the room became nearly unbearably loud with reporters shouting over each other, trying to get their questions heard.  Finally Harry pointed to Derek Dirlby, the head reporter at the _Daily Prophet_.

“Are you telling us that you’re gay, Potter?”

Harry tried his best to put up a brave defiant face. “Yes.”

The Prophet reporter continued, “How would Skeeter know that if the rest of us didn’t?”

“Rita Skeeter spent ten months in Azkaban for breaking and entering into my home last year.”

“For the record,” Dirlby said, before Harry could point to any other reporters, “Rita Skeeter was never actually employed by the _Prophet_. She worked as a freelance reporter, and we simply bought some of her stories.”

“Right,” Harry pointed out angrily, “And if she hadn’t been caught breaking into my home, and had written an article about my being gay, you would have snapped it up and paid her quite well for it.”

As Dirlby sputtered, Harry heard Ron stifle a laugh behind him. There was no love lost between Harry and the _Prophet_ , which was the reason Harry wanted this press conference to include all wizarding media. It’s the only way he could keep _The Prophet_ honest.

Harry pointed to the wizard from _WWN_ , “Do you have any information on Skeeter’s whereabouts?”

“No.” Harry said. “As of this afternoon, her last known address has been abandoned. We’re asking the wizarding world to keep an eye out, but do not try to take her down yourself. Skeeter is very dangerous.”

Kingsley stood up behind Harry, “The Ministry is offering a two-thousand Galleon reward for information leading to Skeeter’s capture.”

There was an appreciative murmur among the press, who all began scribbling in their note pads.

A reporter from a newspaper from Germany asked what the notes said, and Harry described what each said. Then the reporter from the _WWN_ pointed out the Dottie the Neighborhood Homewitch connection. Harry explained that Dottie was one of the dead ends that had lead to, that Dottie and her Prophet column had been officially cleared.

There were several more questions about the case from various reporters, until Dirlby from _the Prophet_ asked, “Have you got a boyfriend, Potter?”

Harry flinched slightly, despite knowing the question was going to come sooner or later, and Kingsley stood up again, “We’d like to keep this press conference on the topic of Rita Skeeter and the four victims. Auror Potter’s social life is not up for discussion.”

Dirlby persisted, “For the society pages, though, Potter. You know our readers are always anxious to hear what the famous Harry Potter is up to.”

Ron piped up, “You can follow the Minister’s orders, or I can see you out.”

Dirlby scoffed, “Come on now. You know this is what everyone is curious about.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Ron stood up and walked around the front table to where Dirlby was sitting, grabbed him by the elbow and physically dragged him from the press room ignoring Dirlby’s protestations. Every single photographer, other than the _Prophet’s_ photographer, photographed the entire thing. Most everyone was smiling. Harry noticed Kingsley looked particularly proud of Ron at that moment.

Ron came back to the front of the room and plopped back down in his seat. “Anyone else?” he asked.

There was light laughter from the remaining reporters, but no one else spoke up to ask anything. Kingsley stood up, “All right then, I want to thank you all for coming.”

As the press left, Kingsley patted Ron on the back affectionately, then turned to the four Aurors. “Go home and get some rest. Once word gets out that there is a reward offered, we are going to be inundated with calls from people claiming to know where Skeeter is, and we will have to follow up on every one of them. There will be some long days ahead.”

Ron, Jeffers, and Sammy left but Harry stuck around. “Kingsley, I need to go see Andromeda tomorrow.”

“Go,” Kingsley said. “Take care of that and Teddy and come in when you can.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, gratefully.

_____________

****

The next morning, an owl brought Harry a copy of the _Daily Prophet_. Overall, the _Prophet_ was rubbish and Harry refused to subscribe to it, so someone must have seen to it that he’d get today’s issue.

The headline read **“Rita Skeeter Named Suspect No. 1 in Hooch Murders.** ”

Harry began to read:

_In a press conference yesterday, Auror and defeater of Voldemort, Harry Potter announced that Rita Skeeter is now the prime suspect in the murders of Rolanda Hooch, Margaret Murphy, as well as two muggle men who were discovered murdered in a flat in London yesterday. Rita Skeeter is a well-known and controversial  biographer of several great wizards, including Albus Dumbledore, Gilderoy Lockhart, and Armando Dippet. Skeeter, while working independently, has also penned several articles for this newspaper._

_Clues had been left on the bodies of each victim. Skeeter had written notes on a type of muggle paper, which, when reading the first letter of each word, spelled out the name ‘Harry Potter.’ Whether this was some kind of warning for Potter, or some kind of information for the rest of the world about Potter is unknown. What is known, however, is that all of the victims were homosexual. And in the press conference Potter admitted that he is as well._

_Last year Skeeter spent ten months in Azkaban for breaking and entering into Potter’s home, where she discovered his well-kept secret. It is unclear why Skeeter is taking this route to outing Potter, as answers to that were vague and obviously would not be known until Skeeter is caught._

_The Ministry, however, has assured the wizarding world that there seems to be no death eater connection to Skeeter or to the murders. However, Skeeter is considered very dangerous and the Ministry is asking everyone to not try to take her down on your own, but to contact the Ministry immediately if she is seen. Additionally, the Ministry is requesting that friends and family of gay wizards to please use extra caution in public and to put basic protective charms on their homes. Witches and wizards who live in highly muggle areas are being asked to put protective charms on the homes of any homosexual muggles who live in their areas._

_The Ministry is offering a two-thousand galleon reward for information leading to an arrest of Rita Skeeter._

_-See page 14 for timeline of events of the murders._

_-See page 15 for a bibliography of Rita Skeeter’s work._

****

Harry put the paper down. He was surprised that the _Prophet’s_ article hadn’t been more scandalous. Perhaps Dirlby being manhandled by Ron at the press conference yesterday had been a good thing.

Neville came into the kitchen and Harry handed him the paper. Neville skimmed the article quickly and looked up, “Well that wasn’t so bad,” he said.

“I know. It surprised me too.”

“And you were so worried,” Neville chided him gently.

“I kept you out of it,” Harry said.

Neville nodded, “I noticed.”

“I’m trying to control this,” Harry explained. “I want this to happen my way.”

“That’s fine,” Neville assured him. “But you don’t need to keep me a secret on my behalf. I knew when I got together with you that media attention could come along with it.”

Harry bit the inside of his lip, “Still. It’s nice to not have everyone know everything about me.”

Neville got up to get some tea, and leaned down to give Harry a kiss. “Are you coming with me to pick up Teddy?” Neville asked.

“I don’t know,” Harry said. “I’m going to see Andromeda at St. Mungo’s. But yeah, I think I should be there to pick up Teddy with you. I am going to have to go to the office. Kingsley warned us that we are going to be getting a lot of calls from people claiming to know where Rita Skeeter is.”

Neville nodded in understanding. “Why don’t you head out to St. Mungo’s now, and come back here before we head out to the Burrow together?”

So Harry headed to St. Mungo’s. As soon as he walked in, he knew he was being stared at. Several people were reading the _Prophet_ , and glanced at him wide-eyed. By this point, Harry was fairly well used to extra attention in public and had learned to ignore it for the most part. It did make him slightly uncomfortable, however, that now they were in on his sex life to some extent.

He managed to ignore the looks, and make it to the witch at the front desk without anyone approaching him. “I’m here to see Andromeda Tonks,” he said in a low voice.

“Fourth Floor, unidentifiable jinxes unit, room seventeen,” she said in a bored voice, handing Harry a visitor’s badge.

Harry clipped the badge to the front of his shirt and took the lifts to the fourth floor and turned left into the unidentifiable jinxes ward. He passed two women healers who looked up at him as he passed, then got into a whispered conversation with each other. He found room seventeen and knocked lightly.

“Come in,” Andromeda called.

“Hi,” Harry said, peeking his head around the door before entering. “How are you feeling?”

“Oh, Harry,” she said shaking her head a little. “The healers just can’t seem to get my legs sorted out. They have a few more counter-curses they want to try, but it doesn’t seem there’s a lot of hope. I tell you I have no idea what I could have done to my leg.”

Harry took the chair next to the bed, “Does it hurt?” he asked.

“That’s the thing. I doesn’t hurt at all. I just look at my legs and try to send them a message with my brain that they need to move, and they won’t move.”

“What will you do?”

Andromeda sighed. “I don’t know. Narcissa came by yesterday and offered up place for me to stay in the Manor, but I don’t know I’d like that.” Harry understood. It had been only the last couple years that Narcissa had attempted to repair her relationship with her sister. And while the two seemed to be able to work beyond their past issues, they would never be as close as sisters should be. “But I want to hear about Teddy,” Andromeda said.

“He’s fine. Molly had him at the Burrow last night and I’m going to go pick him up today. He’ll stay with us.”

“And ‘us’ is you and Neville, right?”

“Er....yes.”

Andromeda nodded, “I read the _Prophet_ this morning.”

“Mmm,” Harry nodded. “Sorry I never told you.”

“It’s all right,” Andromeda waved her hand dismissively. “Teddy told me earlier this year that you and Neville sleep in the same room. I figured you’d tell me when you were ready.”

Harry nodded appreciatively. He and Andromeda continued to talk for a while. Mostly about Teddy, but she also had questions about the case he was working on.

“I hope you catch her,” she said vehemently. “People like that don’t deserve to be out walking the streets.”

“We’ll get her,” Harry assured her, sounding much more confident than he actually was.

After a few more minutes of chatting, a healer peeked her head in, “Mrs. Tonks, the healers are ready to take you to the counter-curse room again."

Harry stood up, “Either Neville or I will bring Teddy by this weekend,” he said as he leaned down to give her a hug. They said their goodbyes and Harry went back to Twelve Grimmauld Place. He was feeling happy that Andromeda’s spirit were up, but it made him slightly down that she might end up having to live in Malfoy Manor.


	13. Malfoy Again

Harry and Neville were just getting ready to leave for the Burrow, when they heard Ron’s voice calling from the fireplace. They ran down to the kitchen and saw Ron in the fireplace, looking deeply annoyed.

“Harry, I’m at the Burrow. Get your arse over here,” he demanded.

“We were just on our way over. What’s going on?” Harry asked, kneeling down by the fireplace.

“Just get here, eh?” Ron snapped.

“Well, get out of the fireplace and we’ll be right behind you.”

Ron’s head disappeared and Harry grabbed a pinch of floo powder off the hearth. He threw a pinch in the fireplace and stepped in, “The Burrow,” he said, feeling the pull of being sucked through wizarding fireplaces.

Harry stepped out of the Burrow’s fireplace and Ron rushed toward him, “Have you seen today’s _Prophet?_ ” he demanded.

“Er...yes,” Harry said a little confused. “I read the article and thought it looked all right.” Harry turned and lent Neville a hand as he tripped getting out of the fireplace.

“Not the front page,” Ron said. “The Society page. Did you read that?”

“No.” Harry said.

Ron shoved the paper into his hands. “Read the Society page.”

Hermione, carrying a fussy baby Rosie, walked into the sitting room with Molly at her heels. “Hi Harry,” she said. “Ron, it’s not that big a deal.”

“Not a....not a big deal?” Ron asked, his voice attaining an impressively high octave.

Harry shook open the paper and located the Society page. He groaned a little at the headline. _Harry Potter: In love with his best friend_? The byline was Derek Dirlby.

“Oh shit,” Harry murmured as he kept reading.

_In a press conference yesterday to discuss the murders of Madam Rolanda Hooch and Margaret Murphy, Harry Potter admitted to being gay. When asked by this reporter if he had a boyfriend, Harry did not answer. Surprisingly, however, Potter’s long-time best friend and fellow Auror, Ron Weasley was almost too quick to jump to Potter’s defense. Weasley insisted that such questions would get a reporter removed from the press conference. When this reporter persisted, Weasley got up and forcibly removed us from the room._

_Why, exactly, was Weasley so quick to insist that Potter not answer that question? Readers of this Society page know that Weasley is married to muggle-born Hermione Granger, the other third of this trio that helped to rid the world of Voldemort. One must wonder what the state of that marriage is, and whether Granger is aware that her husband is overly anxious to defend his gay best friend from answering probing questions._

Harry looked up, “What the hell?”

“Right?” Ron asked, looking slightly panicked. Ron glanced at Neville, “This isn’t funny!” he exclaimed.

Harry turned around and saw that Neville looked slightly amused and biting his lip, presumably to keep from laughing out loud. “No, of course it isn’t,” Neville said, sounding very much like he was placating Ron. “I think I’ll go find Teddy,” he added, scurrying out of the sitting room.

“Honestly Ron,” Hermione said, “No one is going to believe that.”

“People will believe anything,” Ron insisted.

“If anyone asks you about it, just tell them the truth,” Molly said. “Tell them you’re happily married to Hermione and that you aren’t gay. I don’t see what the big deal is.”

Hermione pressed on, “Why, exactly, do you think being mistaken for gay is such a terrible thing?”

“Ask Harry,” Ron said, jerking his thumb toward Harry. “He’s the one who _is_ gay and didn’t want people thinking it.”

“I....” Harry cut himself off. “That wasn’t a gay thing. That was a privacy thing. In that, I have none and I wanted some!”

“You could have chosen anything to be private about,” Ron pointed out. “But you chose the gay thing. Of course it’s a gay thing.”

Harry stared at Ron for a moment, wavering between annoyance, anger, and understanding. Finally he gave in to understanding, “You’re right. But what do you want me to do about it now? Call another press conference and snog Neville in front of everyone?”

“I’d do it!” Neville called from the kitchen. The four of them in the sitting room started laughing.

“Look,” Harry said. “I know you aren’t used to this. But I am. _The Prophet’s_ told more lies than truth about me. If they ask me, I’ll tell them the truth. If they ask you about it, you feel free to tell them the truth.”

“Really?” Ron asked.

“Yes,” Harry said. “I think I’ve given up on trying to control this myself. Rita Skeeter saw to that.” Harry looked at Ron, “Are we all right?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “We’re cool.”

“Great,” Molly clapped her hands together looking decidedly less worried. “Harry dear, you’re skin and bones. Let me get you some breakfast.”

_________

****

While Harry sat down to a bowl of porridge, he brought up baby Kevin to Hermione.

“Hmmm,” she said, frowning a little. “If he is magic, I’d have him on the muggle-born list for Hogwarts for his year. But we don’t really have any provisions for someone in his particular situation. I assume his mum wouldn’t give him up to an orphanage.”

“Doubtful,” Harry said. “She’s uneducated and living with her frightening parents, but I do think she loves the boy.”

Hermione shrugged, “We have funds for children witches and wizards who need it. It’s likely her sister was able to go to Hogwarts through those funds. But there’s not a lot we can do for him until he gets his Hogwarts letter.”

“She’s really going to be disappointed.”

“I understand,” Hermione said kindly. “The best thing for her to do would move away from her parents.”

Harry shook his head, “She hasn’t finished school. She wouldn’t be able to get a job.”

“Well, maybe someone will be willing to take them in. The boy’s father? An Aunt or Uncle?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said, discouraged. “I’ll send her a letter and see if she can find help.”

After finishing breakfast, and assuring Molly he couldn’t eat another drop, Harry saw Neville and Teddy off to Grimmauld Place, before he and Ron took the floos to the Ministry.

Kingsley hadn’t been kidding. As soon as they reached the Auror’s office, there was pandemonium.

Jeffers came up to them looking red-faced and slightly manic.  “We’ve gotten more tips on where Skeeter is than we have Aurors.” Jeffers shoved a handful of memos into each of their hands. “Here are a few we’ve gotten. Go check them, even though I’m pretty sure they’re all bunk.”

Harry glanced through the memos. Each had an address or a location and a description of what the letter said they’d seen Skeeter doing.

Harry and Ron bade each other goodbye, as they immediately turned back toward the lobby to check out the tips.

Harry’s first tip was the forest where the Quidditch World Cup was held. He didn’t even know where to begin to look for Skeeter. He skirted around the edge, casting a couple of hominem revelios with no success. Finally, he went to the muggle home of the camp director. Harry recognized him as the same man who the death eaters had toyed with after the Quidditch World Cup before his fourth year. He knocked on the door.

Several locks turned before the man opened the door. “What ‘choo want?”

“I’m looking for someone. She may have stayed at the camp grounds last night.” Harry pulled out a photo of Rita Skeeter and handed it to the man. Harry had cast a stunning spell to the figure on the photo, hoping it could pass for a muggle photo. “She might have dyed her hair brown,” Harry added.

The man glanced at it and handed it back to Harry. “Never seen ‘er.”

“Do you mind if I look around the camp ground?”

The man waved his hand toward it. “Do what you want,” and he shut the door in Harry’s face.

There were only two families at the camp ground. Harry showed Skeeter’s picture to both of them, and neither had seen her. They were far friendlier than the muggle caretaker.

Harry’s other tips were equally bogus. He hoped that perhaps after a day or two that the false reports would slow down. At the moment, people seemed willing to send the Aurors on a wild goose chase if it meant a chance at two thousand galleons.

It turns out, he was right. After a few days, where Harry spent morning until night apparating all over the wizarding world looking for Skeeter, the false tips seemed to ebb. Those few days, however, Harry barely saw Neville or Teddy except for in the mornings. As Neville went back to Hogwarts for his last week before summer, he was the one to take Teddy to The Burrow in the morning and he was the one to pick Teddy up in the afternoon. And Neville was also the one to take Teddy to St. Mungo’s to visit Andromeda.

Neville didn’t seem to mind, but Harry hated it. Whenever he and Neville had taken Teddy for a weekend, Harry had always made sure to take time off of work for it. This opportunity to get to know Teddy was passing him by.

By that Thursday, Harry was absolutely exhausted. All of the Aurors were exhausted and that morning when no owls came with letters insisting Skeeter had been spotted, each Auror dragged him or herself to their own offices to catch up on other work.

Harry had failed to fill out any of his interview paperwork in a week, and now the stack of notebooks and scraps of parchment he’d been using to keep notes on littered his desk in a disorganized disarray. Harry sighed, as he slowly began shifting through the notes and putting them in date order. He’d been at it for nearly two hours, when a flying memo came into his office and hovered in front of him. Harry sighed as he opened it, convinced he’d be off to another place to look for Skeeter and not find her.

He was surprised when he opened it, and the note read, _Draco Malfoy is in the lobby requesting to see Auror Harry Potter._

 _Malfoy?_ Harry wondered. _What does Malfoy want with me?_  Harry grabbed his quill and wrote at the bottom, _Send him in_.

He sent the flying memo back to the reception witch in the lobby then looked around his office. Harry was always mildly embarrassed at the state of his office, which was cluttered and disorganized. Harry knew the fastidious Malfoy would sneer at it, and Harry wasn’t quite sure why that even bothered him.

It was too late to straighten up, so Harry calmly went back to his mountainous paperwork. Minutes later, Harry looked up after he heard the familiar Malfoy drawl, “Well, Potter. You sure are good at keeping secrets.” Malfoy was standing in the doorway, casually leaning against the frame, trademark smirk upon his face. He was impeccably dressed in black robes lined with a soft silvery material at the collar and cuffs. His hair, which had always been slicked back, was now cut shorter and lay forward on his forehead.

Harry leaned back in his chair, “What do you want, Malfoy?”

Malfoy stepped in, “You know sixth year when you were following me around. If I’d known then that you were gay, I would have been more flattered than annoyed. I mean, The Boy Who Lived fancying the bad Slytherin Malfoy?”

“Is that what you think?” Harry asked, smiling a little.

“Too bad I’m so far out of your league.”

Harry guffawed, “Right, Malfoy. I followed you around because I fancied you. It couldn’t possibly be that you have a higher opinion of yourself than anyone else has of you.” Harry continued after Malfoy rolled his eyes, “Is this why you came to see me? To harass me about being gay? You want to call me a mincing ponce next?”

“Please, Potter,” Malfoy shifted a few papers off a seat in front of Harry’s desk and sat down. “I couldn’t possibly care less about your love life.”

“Then why are you here?” Harry pressed, leaning forward on his elbows.  

“I might have some information useful to you about Rita Skeeter’s whereabouts.”

Harry paused, “True information?” He asked, “Because we are chock-full of bullshit tips.” He picked up a large stack of memos for proof.

Malfoy raised his eyebrows, “Do you really think I need the two-thousand galleons?”

It was a good point, but Harry didn’t say so. Instead he grabbed a piece of parchment, and quill and said, “Fine. What do you have for me?”

Malfoy began, “Mother and I were visiting my father in Azkaban two days ago. Lucius is...er...not well-liked in prison, otherwise I’d have more information for you. But he told us that he overheard some former death-eaters say that Skeeter is quite the hero among that lot. Because they’re quite certain she’ll be able to finish you off where the Dark Lord failed. So there are a few Death Eaters who weren’t caught, and Death Eater sympathizers who are hiding her. And she is definitely out to kill you.”

“Who’s hiding her?” Harry asked.

Malfoy shrugged, “Because Mother and I managed to not get sentenced, and because Lucius abandoned the Dark Lord before the end of the war, the other Death Eaters in Azkaban really hate him. This was just information he overheard, but they’d never let him in on exactly where Skeeter is hiding.”

“Hmm,” Harry said thoughtfully.

“I know it’s not much,” Malfoy admitted.

“No,” Harry insisted. “It’s good. It’s not exact, but it gives us a lot more focus than we had before.” Harry looked up and met Malfoy’s eye. “Thanks for coming,” he said, hoping it sounded as sincere as he meant it to.

Malfoy shrugged again and looked away, “Like I said, I liked Madam Hooch a lot. I figured this was the least I could do.”

“Do you happen to know the names of any uncaught Death Eaters, or sympathizers?” Harry asked hopefully.

Malfoy snorted, “No. I think the Dark Lord knew the Malfoys were not entirely trustworthy with information. That information never found its way to my ears and I’m fairly certain that was intentional.”

“OK,” Harry said. “Well, I really appreciate you coming by to tell me this.”

“Right,” Malfoy said, standing up. He looked around the office, “This office is a disgrace. Honestly, how you manage to get anything done...” he drifted off, shaking his head in disgust and began walking out the door.

Harry smiled mildly, “Hey Malfoy. Why do you call your father by his first name?” he asked curiously. Harry, not ever knowing his parents, had never thought about others’ calling their parents by their first names.

Malfoy stopped walking and paused for a moment before turning around, “Without getting too personal,” he began, failing to make eye contact and instead staring at a spot on the wall about a foot above Harry’s head, “I’m about to become a father myself. And what I learned about being a father from Lucius is to not be a father like Lucius.”

Harry didn’t say anything for a moment. In a bizarre way, he understood where Malfoy was coming from without actually knowing the specifics of Malfoy’s childhood. Finally he nodded, “Makes sense.”

“Anyway,” Malfoy said awkwardly. He tapped on the inside of the doorframe, “See you around, Potter.”

“You too, Malfoy.”


	14. The Malfoy Plan

****

Another week passed and no more tips came in. Harry called a meeting of the Aurors and explained that he’d gotten good information that either Death Eaters who hadn’t been sentenced to Azkaban or Death Eater sympathizers were hiding Skeeter. And that this same good information indicated that Skeeter was, in fact, after Harry.

Jeffers wanted to take Harry off the case entirely, but Harry fought him hard over it. The argument spilled over to the other Aurors, and the animosity had gotten bad enough that Kingsley was called in to mediate. Kingsley allowed Harry to stay on the case, but insisted on him having security at all times. Harry was not to investigate on his own.

He was unhappy about it, which Neville pointed out, served him right for siccing a security wizard on him that last week of school. “And you know she’s after you,” Neville’d pointed out one evening after they put Teddy to bed and Harry was complaining about it. “You made me have security when all you had was a hunch that Skeeter was coming after me next.”

“I worry about you,” Harry pointed out to Neville. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Neville stood up and slapped his hand to his forehead, “Holy _shit!_ ” he exclaimed. Harry quirked an eyebrow at him. Neville rarely slipped into muggle slang. “And how do you think I feel about you?”

Harry didn’t say anything for a moment. “ _Fine_ ,” he said with great exaggeration. “Fine. I won’t complain about my security detail.”

The Aurors, minus Harry, had all been put on undercover assignments hanging out in a disillusioned state front of the homes of those they suspected were Death Eaters, but who had somehow been able to avoid Azkaban. Harry had requested extra investigation into Adeena Gombe’s parents. He’d gotten a feeling that perhaps they hadn’t, in fact, accepted their daughter’s homosexuality well at all.  A letter Harry sent to Adeena inquiring about it had gone unanswered.

Several days with no sighting of Skeeter had gone by. One evening, Harry and Neville were getting Teddy ready for a bath when a loud knock came at the door. “I’ll get it,” Harry said, standing up.

“Check the peephole,” Neville warned. “Ask our security question.”

“Right,” Harry rolled his eyes as he bounded down the stairs. He looked through the peephole and saw Ron and Jeffers standing side-by-side on the stoop. Harry cracked open the door. “What did Dumbledore’s snitch say to me?” he asked.

“I open at the close,” Ron answered.

Harry flung the door wide open. “What’re you guys doing here?” he asked.

“We have an idea how to catch Skeeter,” Jeffers said excitedly.

Ron seemed just as excited, “It was Hermione’s idea,” he was bouncing on the balls of his feet. “But as soon as she said it, she tried to take it back. But I think it’s brilliant.”

“We just need to get you to agree to it.” Jeffers said anxiously.

Harry looked at them for a moment, then motioned them into the sitting room. At that moment, a pajama-clad Teddy came running down the stairs and flung himself into Harry’s arms. “Night Harry,” he said.

Harry kissed the top of his head. “Night Teddy-bear. Neville’s going to put you to sleep tonight, OK?”

“OK!” he said and started toward the stairs where Neville was waiting for him.

“What is it?” Harry asked.

“Well,” Ron said. “We’ll spread information that you’re going to be at a certain place at a certain time and try to draw Skeeter to you.”

“You want me to be bait?” Harry asked.

“Oh, hell no!” Neville stormed back down the stairs. “I’ll be back in a moment, Teddy,” he called to Teddy up the stairs “Go to your bedroom and play for a moment.”  He came into the sitting room and pointed a finger at Ron, “Hell no. He’s not doing that. You aren’t putting him in harm’s way like that. I won’t allow it.”

“Neville,” Ron said impatiently. “There’ll be other Aurors there.”

“I don’t care. You wouldn’t want Hermione to do it,” Neville said. He turned to Harry, “Please don’t do this.”

“I think I have to,” Harry said quietly.

“No,” Neville pleaded. “This is _stupid_. Skeeter’s got to come out of hiding sometime. Just keep a watch on those houses.”

“And in the meantime, I can’t go anywhere alone? I can barely do anything but sit at work and sit at home? No.” Harry said emphatically. “Let’s do this.”

Neville turned on his heel and stalked up the stairs without another word. Jeffers looked at Neville’s receding body then to Harry quizzically.  “So you’re with Longbottom then?”

Harry nodded.

“Is this going to be a problem between you?” Jeffers asked.

Harry nodded again, “Yes. But I still want to do it.”

After a few moments silence, Jeffers said awkwardly. “All right, then. Let’s think how we’re going to draw Skeeter out.”

Ron suggested letting an outing slip to the Prophet. “Nah,” Harry dismissed. “ _The Prophet_ has rarely published any truth about me. They’d just mess it up for us.”

The three sat quietly, before Harry said. “Shit. I think I know what I have to do,” he said slowly. He went to his desk and got a piece of parchment. He sat down and wrote:

_Malfoy-_

_Remember when I saved your ass from a raging fire in the room of requirement? And remember when I testified on your behalf and your mother’s behalf to save your asses from Azkaban? I’m calling in a favour. I need you at my house as soon as possible. My house is protected by the fidelius charm, but I’m trusting you enough to allow you this information. I’m at 12 Grimmauld Place. I’ll unlock the floo and wait for you._

_Potter._

****

Harry went to the window, and whistled for his owl. He tied the letter to the owl’s leg, muttered “Get this to Draco Malfoy, as quickly as possible,”  to it, and the owl took off. Harry sat and hoped for a moment that this was a good thing he was doing.

He turned to see Ron and Jeffers staring at him blankly. “What’d you do, mate?” Ron asked.

“I...er...” Harry began, “I’m not telling you. You won’t agree to it.”

“What’ve you done?” Jeffers asked, trepidation strong in his voice.

“You’ll see in a bit,” Harry said. “But I need you to trust me on this.”

Ron turned to Jeffers, “He’s done something incredibly stupid.”

“You won’t think it’s so stupid if it works out,” Harry said hotly and he went over to the fireplace and unlocked the floo.

“Who’re you expecting?” Ron asked.

“A person who can help us out with this,” Harry bit his lip, thinking to himself, if he actually can be trusted.

They waited silently for a while. Harry, his stomach a bundle of nerves, got up to brew some tea for Ron and Jeffers. He took it out to them, but failed to drink any himself. His stomach was beginning to hurt again.

After less than a half-hour, the owl tapped at the window. Harry opened it and opened the parchment.

_Potter-_

_Remember when Greyback caught you, Granger, and Weasley and brought you all to the manor and I lied to the Dark Lord that I wasn’t sure it was you? Remember when my mother told the Dark Lord you were dead even though she knew you were alive?  I don’t see that you have a favour to call in._

_I’ll be there by floo at half-past nine._

_Malfoy_

****

Harry sighed gratefully. He’d known that getting Malfoy here would be half the battle. Remembering what Malfoy had said about Lucius the week prior, Harry was a little more certain that Draco would, at least, agree to pass information to Lucius.

Harry checked his pocket watch. It was nine twenty. “We have about ten minutes,” he announced to Ron and Jeffers.

Ron looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Harry, why do I have a bad feeling about this?” he asked.

“Trust me,” Harry said again. He was certain that if he told Ron at this point, Ron would stun him and lock the floo. “I know what I’m doing.”

Exactly ten minutes later, the fire glowed green, and Harry saw Draco Malfoy’s body come spinning into view. He stepped gently out of the fireplace, brushing soot off of his stylish grey and green robes.

“Malfoy,” Ron said in disdain. He turned to Harry, his face slowly turning a color to match his hair.  “What the hell are you playing at, Harry?”

“Nice to see you too, Weasel,” Draco said, sneering. “But I was wondering the same thing. What are you playing at, Potter?”

“Harry,” Jeffers said weakly. “I don’t know what you’re planning, but I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“It is,” Harry insisted. “Have a seat,” he motioned Malfoy toward an empty chair.

Harry remained standing and watched Draco take a seat, looking halfway between pensive and annoyed. “Right,” he started nervously. “Thing is, Malfoy, we’re trying to get Rita Skeeter to come after me.”

“Then you’re a lot bloody stupider than I thought you were, Potter.” Malfoy said. “I told you already, she’s trying to kill you.”

“What’s he doing here?” Neville surprised voice came from stairs. He was coming down from finally getting Teddy settled and asleep. “What’s going on?”

“What’s Longbottom doing here?” Malfoy asked.

“I bloody live here, Malfoy!”

“You-?” Draco cut his sentence off as a look of realization crossed his face. “Ooooh,” he drawled nodding. “You live here. I see. Well, isn’t this just the sweetest. Two Gryffindor heroes finding love and banging-”

Neville cut him off, “What the hell, Harry?”

“I think Malfoy can help us,” Harry said quietly.

“Him?” Neville’s voice raised an octave. “What the hell is Malfoy going to be able to do?”

“Quite a welcoming party you’ve created for me, Potter. This better be good.” Draco looked annoyed.

“OK, Everyone calm down. Just give me a second to explain.” Things got quiet and Harry continued, turning to Draco, “Malfoy. We’re trying to get a rumor to Rita Skeeter’s ears about where I can be found. And I could really use your help in getting the rumor to Skeeter.”

“How would you want me to do that?” Draco asked, sounding bored despite looking mildly interested.

“Through your father.”

“What?”

Neville, Ron, and Jeffers were all looking nonplussed at Harry.

“When you came by last week, you mentioned that Lucius was not a well-liked man by the other Death Eaters, right?”

“Yes,” Draco nodded slowly.

“Well, he probably wants to change that. If he had some inside information about me that could be passed on to the other death eaters there, he’d be thrilled, right?”

“Yes, but he’s not going to do it if it means catching Skeeter.”

“You don’t need to tell him that part, though,” Harry pointed out.

“I want some more detail,” Malfoy sounded unsure.

“Right. Here’s what I was thinking,” Harry raised his wand, “Accio Map!” he called. From his office, a folded up map of Muggle London came zooming into the sitting room. Harry caught it and opened it on the floor.  He circled an underground station. “See this station? There are three gay bars in a half-mile radius around this station.” Harry poked the map in three places.

“Do I even want to know why you know where gay bars in Muggle London are?” Malfoy asked snidely.

“Probably not,” Harry admitted.

Malfoy looked at Neville and smirked, “You know about this?”  Neville rolled his eyes.

“Anyway,” Harry interrupted. “Next time you visit Azkaban, you talk to your dad, and say something like, ‘Oh, did you hear about Potter? He keeps visiting gay muggle clubs in London.’ And you can be all, you know, snide about it so it’s believable.”

“Snide so it’s believable?” Malfoy asked.

Harry gave him a look and Ron laughed loudly, “Come on, Malfoy,” Ron chided. “You must know how you sound to others.”

Malfoy turned on Ron, “What’s that supposed to mean, Weasel?”

Ron rolled his eyes in Malfoy’s direction. “You aren’t exactly the nicest guy in the world, Malfoy. You don’t exactly come from nice stock, either.”

“Are you really one to be going on about what stock I come from?” Malfoy spat. “Look at who raised you.”

Ron scoffed, “Well, I wasn’t raised by a criminal and an ice queen. So,”

“What did you call my mother?” Draco stood up to face Ron.

“Oh sit your arse down, Malfoy,” Ron said, “I called your mother an ice queen. She’s not exactly Miss Warm-and-Friendly.”

“At least my mother is more than a brood mare.” Malfoy snapped.

“Oh, right. Because my parents had lots of kids,” Ron nodded. “I suppose  by that logic you’re an only child because your mum’s so frigid.”

“What the-” Malfoy cut off. “Don’t talk about my mum like that,” he snapped. “You’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

Ron shrugged, “Right, Malfoy. You keep believing your mum’s a great woman and was a great mum. But no one forced her to stay married to Lucius. She didn’t exactly stand up for you when you were forced to get the dark mark.”

“She did what she thought she had to,” Malfoy snapped.

“Yeah, because-”

Ron was cut off by Neville, who stood up violently and hissed, “Shut up. Both of you.” Neville took two long strides over toward Harry and kissed him full on the lips. Harry, thinking it would be a peck, started to pull out of the kiss, but Neville pushed forward, pulling Harry toward him and deepening the kiss, running a thumb gently down Harry’s cheek.

Neville pulled away, and Harry licked his lips a little, wondering what exactly that was about. Neville stalked out of the room without another word. Harry, Ron, Jeffers & Malfoy all watched Neville as he left the room.

“I could have done without ever seeing that,” Draco said.

“You got a problem with gay people now?” Ron snapped.

“I don’t give a rat’s hairy ass who Potter wants to shag. I no more want to see him make out with Longbottom than I would have your sister, Weasley. This may shock you, but I actually do have gay friends.”

“That actually does shock me,” Ron said, sounding surprised.

“I don’t know what’s going on between you two,” Jeffers spoke up, “But it’s obvious you don’t like each other. I, for one, would like to hear Potter’s plans without listening to you two bicker like an old married couple."

Draco rolled his eyes, but Ron managed to look slightly abashed. Jeffers was his boss after all.

“Thank you,” Harry nodded toward Jeffers. “Like I was saying, Malfoy, tell your father that you heard that I’d been going to a gay club nearby. My theory is that he’ll tell the other death eaters in Azkaban, and that it will make its way to Skeeter’s ears. But we just have to think of a way you would have heard about me being in muggle London.”

“That’s easy,” Malfoy waved his hand dismissively. “Astoria and her sister shop in Muggle London all the time. They get their clothes made by muggles. And now she’s starting to show, she’s needed more clothes.”

“Does your dad know you’ve married a woman who patronizes muggle shops?” Ron asked.

“Ron,” Harry warned.

“I was asking sincerely.”

Draco glared at Ron, “What Lucius Malfoy thinks is rarely a concern of mine anymore.”

“So, Astoria saw me getting off the tube. How much does Lucius know about Muggle London?”

“Next to nothing,” Malfoy confirmed.

“Good. Because it’s not believable Astoria would actually ever be in this neighborhood. So you tell him that Astoria and Daphne saw me getting off the tube last Friday and they followed me and saw me go into a gay club. It’ll sound suspicious if she has too much information, so she doesn’t remember the name of the club, right?”

“Right,” Malfoy said.

“Just tell it to him like it’s an interesting piece of gossip. Then all we can do is hope the gossip reaches the right ears. Skeeter hears about it, and does her research and finds three gay clubs near that station, so she heads out on Friday, and maybe Saturday to scout around for me.”

“Just one problem,” Draco said.

“What?”

“Lucius is only granted one visit from me and mother per month. I have two weeks to go before I can even visit him again.”

Harry, Ron, and Jeffers glanced at each other. Finally Jeffers shrugged, “I guess we just have to wait?”

 _“The Prophet_ is going to be up our asses for updates on this case,” Harry said.

Jeffers shrugged, “We can get the Minister to provide them with vague updates. He’s fairly good at that.”

“Let me think about it,” Draco said.

****

“For how long?” Harry asked. “Because if you don’t do this, we need to work on finding other ways to draw her out.”

Draco looked at Harry, then to Jeffers, then turned his attention back to Harry, “I’m not doing this as a favor to you,” he insisted. “I don’t care about your career or your investigations. But I liked Madam Hooch quite a lot, and I really fucking hate Rita Skeeter. So I’ll do it.”

“Thank you,” Harry said.

“Yeah, this is really decent of you, Draco,” Jeffers said.

Jeffers nudged Ron, who sighed, “Thanks, Malfoy.”

“Potter, how’d you end up living in a house that is Black family property anyway?”

“Sirius Black left it to me in his will.”

“But you aren’t family.”

Harry shrugged, “It’s mine legally because Sirius died and left it to me in his will. But if your knickers are in a bunch over it, Malfoy, don’t worry. I’ve left it to Teddy Lupin in my will. If I die first, it goes to Neville with the understanding it’s left to Teddy after he dies.  So when Neville and I go, it’ll go back to being in your family.”

“Is the family tree still on the wall? Does crazy old Mrs. Black still yell at visitors by the front door?”

Harry raised his eyebrows, “How do you know about that?”

“I’d been to this house before, you know. My mother was a Black, after all.”

“The family tree is still here and old Mrs. Black is up on the wall with a permanent sticking charm. I swear to Merlin, I will pay a handsome sum to anyone who comes up with a way to unstick a permanent sticking charm.”

Draco smiled a little. “All right, Potter. I’ll send you an owl after I see my father next.” He grabbed a pinch of floo powder from next to the fireplace. “Bye,” he said.

“Bye,” Harry said as he watched Draco’s form spin back toward the Manor.

When he was out of sight, Ron said, “Harry. You’d better know what you’re doing. I don’t know what makes you think Malfoy is trustworthy.”

Harry thought for a moment. He remembered walking into the bathroom at Hogwarts in sixth year and seeing Malfoy crying. He remembered how Malfoy didn’t have it in him to kill Dumbledore. He remembered the frightened look in Malfoy’s face when Greyback brought him to the Manor. And he remembered the look of panicked desperation and manic disbelief when they encountered Malfoy in the Room of Requirement during the war.

Harry turned to Ron and shrugged, “I don’t think he was ever made to be a Death Eater. And I think he’s just starting to realize he was a victim of his circumstances, and, despite the fact that he’s a total arsehole, I think Draco Malfoy wants to do the right thing but doesn’t always know how. Because he was stuck with Lucius for a father.”

“Or,” Ron said. “He’s just an arsehole who’s going to foul up this whole investigation.”

“Well, I hope not.” Harry said. “We’ll just have to wait and see.”

“Even if this works, Malfoy’s not going to become your best buddy, is he?”

Harry looked at Ron, “Malfoy can be a lot of things. And I may trust him to do this, but he’s still a wanker I’d rather not ever have to see again.”

“Right,” Jeffers rubbed his hands together. “The wife is pissed at me for taking off so quickly tonight, so I’d better get back.”

“I need to get upstairs and make things right with Neville,” Harry said.

Ron slapped Harry on the shoulder, “Good luck with that, mate.”

Harry said good-bye and good night to them, then slowly made his way up the stairs towards the bedroom he shared with Neville. He stopped in the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face before heading into the bedroom.

Neville was in bed reading a book. He didn’t look up at all when Harry walked in.  Harry undressed and climbed into bed with Neville, who was trying his hardest to keep his eyes on his book and ignore Harry. Harry looked at Neville expectantly, but Neville refused to tear his eyes away from the page.

“Are you ignoring me now?” Harry asked.

“Oh. Is what I think important?” Neville asked.

Harry held his arms out, palms up in an ‘I give up’ manner. “Give me some help here, Nev.”

Neville threw the book aside. “Do we share this house equally? Or is this your house and I’m just living in it with you.”

“We....share it equally,” Harry felt very uncertain.

“So,” Neville snapped, “Do you think maybe before you broke the fidelius charm for Draco Malfoy, of all people, you should have talked to me about it?”

“I-” Harry cut himself off. He hadn’t even considered talking this over with Neville. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I got caught up in work and Draco might actually be a really big help in this case.”

“But did he have to come here?”

“Well, I didn’t want three Aurors showing up at his house. That’d put him on the defensive and he’d be less likely to help. I’m also not entirely sure his wife and mother know that he’s been helping the Aurors.”

“Well, thank goodness you’ve thought all about Draco’s needs,” Neville said sarcastically. Harry raised an eyebrow at Neville. It wasn’t like him to be quite this sarcastic.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said again, scooting toward Neville. Neville scooted away. “I wasn’t thinking. I’ll owl Malfoy tomorrow and tell him not to give out our address.”

“Harry. You broke our _fidelius_ charm for a former death eater. So you could get ahead in a job I’m pretty sure you hate.”

“Wait, what? You think I hate my job?” This was news to Harry.

“You don’t love it. It’s not good for you.”

“What do you mean?”

“When’s the last time you had a proper meal?”

“I eat."

“Not well. You keep complaining about your stomach. Don’t you realize this started right after Madam Hooch’s death?”

“No,” Harry said.

“Yes it did. You came to Hogwarts for the memorial service and your stomach was too upset to eat. Remember? We went to the greenhouse so I could get some mint for you?”

Harry thought back, and he did remember. That had been the first his stomach had hurt. The following day at Dottie’s house, he hadn’t been able to eat her pastries. Since then he’d been generally only drinking tea for breakfast and usually skipping lunch.

“Come here,” Neville said after Harry had gone silent. Harry followed Neville out of the bedroom and into the bathroom. “Step on the scale,” Neville demanded.

“You’re not weighing me.” Harry insisted. “I’m a grown man and you aren’t a doctor.” Neville looked confused, “Healer,” Harry corrected himself.

“I can see your ribs, Harry.”

Harry looked down at his torso. The lines of his ribs could be seen, but only faintly.

“I can see your hip bones too,” Neville said.

Harry looked down further, pulling the top of his boxers down his hips a little bit. “Not really,” he lied.

“If you think I shouldn’t be worried, step on up.” Neville kicked at the scale a little bit.

“I’ve always been thin,” Harry pointed out.

“Shut up and step up, Potter,” Neville insisted.

Harry rolled his eyes and sighed, but finally he stepped onto the scale. “I don’t even know what I weighed before this case,” he pointed out. He looked straight ahead, refusing to glance down at the spinning dial.

“Merlin’s pants,” Neville said. “Your less than fifty-nine kilos, Harry!”

“I’m short,” Harry pointed out.

“You aren’t THAT short,” Neville said. “This job isn’t good for you.”

“I’m an Auror,” Harry said. “It’s supposed to be stressful. You knew when we got together that I was an Auror and I could be working on dangerous cases like this.” He started for the bedroom.

“Right,” Neville agreed following him, “but this will kill you. We have a little boy to think about now.” They crawled into bed together. “Just answer me one question, and be totally honest,” Neville paused. “Why did you become an Auror?”

Without missing a beat, Harry immediately answered, “To catch dark wizards.”

“You sure about that?”

“Sure I’m sure.”

“You don’t think that maybe you became an Auror because that’s what people expected of you? That you did a good job tracking and hunting and killing Voldemort, so the next logical step would be to become an Auror and keep doing that? Especially since you were granted a shortened Auror Training?”

“Skeeter’s no Voldemort,” Harry insisted. “I got him in the end, I can get her.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt you can,” Neville insisted. “I just wonder if the stress of it all will kill you before Skeeter can even try.”

“Well, Neville. I went to Auror training. What else do you want me to do?”

“This may surprise you to hear, Harry,” Neville said dryly, “But there’s an opening for a flying instructor at Hogwarts.”

“I - what?” Harry asked. “I trained to be an Auror. I’m good at it.”

“I know you’re good at it. I’m proud of you, and I know you’re going to get Skeeter in the end. But blimey, Harry. If she kills someone else before you can get to her, what the hell is that going to do to you?”

“I got your point, Neville. I’m not quitting.”

“Fine. Don’t quit. But I want you to eat breakfast with me and Teddy tomorrow.”

“I always eat breakfast with you and Teddy.”

“No. You sit there and drink tea while Teddy and I eat. I want you to eat a proper breakfast.”

Harry poked at his gut a little. It did hurt, but he didn’t want to admit it to Neville. “Sure,” he said, acting like it was no big deal. “Come to bed with me.”

“There’s another thing I want to bring up first,” Neville said.

“Do I want to hear it?”

Neville shrugged, “I think we should take in Colleen Murphy and her baby.”

Harry sat up straight, “What?”

“We could do it,” Neville pointed out. “We’ve got the space and we’ve got Teddy already.”

“Colleen’s a muggle. She can’t even _see_ our house, much less enter it and live here. We don’t have wiring for things like telephones and computers.” Neville looked at him blankly, “Muggles need telephones and computers. And probably television sets too.”

“I’m sure we could find a way,” Neville said. “There’s a local muggle school nearby, she could even finish her education.”

“I-” Harry broke off. “I’ll think about it, OK? That’s all I can promise. And if we can find a way, and if I decide it’s all right, we aren’t doing anything until this case is over. I don’t have enough time for Teddy at the moment and it’s killing me.”

“Hogwarts flying instructor,” Neville said in a sing-song voice under his breath.

Harry rolled his eyes, “I’ll think about that too,” he said dismissively. “Is there anything else you want to lay on me now?” He started ticking points off on his hands, “I let Malfoy in without talking to you, I’m too thin, I should quit my job, and we should take in a muggle girl and her magical baby. Anything else?”

Neville smiled. “We also haven’t had sex since that night at Hogwarts.”

Harry smiled back at him, swung his legs over Neville’s and sat facing Neville on his lap. “I am aware of that,” Harry said, leaning in for a kiss, “And maybe we should do something about it tonight.”


	15. Up Against the Wall

****

The next two weeks were considerably slower. Harry, not being allowed to go out and investigate on his own, was stuck in the office day after day. When that became too unbearable, he simply decided to take a few days off to spend time with Neville and Teddy.

But eventually, that became a little boring as well. “What should we do today?” Harry asked on only his second day home.

“We can’t _go_ anywhere,” Neville reminded him. It was true. Given that Harry was trying to trick Rita Skeeter into believing he was getting laid at muggle clubs meant that keeping his relationship with Neville a secret for a few more weeks was a top priority. They didn’t want to be caught together in public, and didn’t even want Neville to be seen with Teddy.

Relief came in the form of a dinner invitation from Mrs. Weasley. Ginny was going to be in town with her new boyfriend, and Bill and Fleur would be by with Victoire to play with Teddy.  Harry and Neville gratefully accepted.

Because even Harry’s appointed security wizards, who spent long boring days on the front stoop on 12 Grimmauld Place until Harry had some place he needed to be, didn’t know about his relationship with Neville, Neville and Teddy took the floo to the Burrow, while Harry apparated there, taking his security wizard side-along.

“I’m sure you’re welcome to come in,” Harry said to the security wizard.

He smiled, “No thanks, Mr. Potter. I’m going to patrol the perimeter.”

Harry climbed the front steps and opened the door. “Hello!” he called out.

“In here, Harry,” Molly’s voice rang out.

Harry went into the sitting room and found Neville already there, Teddy and Victoire playing on the floor. Neville was chatting with Bill and Fleur, while Hermione was handing a fussy baby Rosie over to Molly.

“Hello Harry, dear,” Molly said. “Ron’s in the kitchen getting some drinks. Why don’t you help him?”

“Sure,” Harry said, waving to Bill and Fleur as he made his way to the kitchen. “Need help?” he asked Ron.

“Nah,” Ron said. “How’re you holding up?”

“It’s so _boring_ at home,” Harry admitted. “But it’s also boring at work.”

Ron smiled. “It’ll get better soon though. Malfoy should be able to visit his dad this week, right?”

“Yes,” Harry sighed.

At that moment Neville walked in the kitchen, “Ron, I thought your family couldn’t keep a secret.”

“They can’t,” he said. “Everyone tells each other everything.”

“Well, I just had to explain to Bill and Fleur why I’m here with Teddy.”

Ron smiled and looked at Harry, “That’s nice. Mum told everyone that Hermione was pregnant before Hermione got a chance to. But she didn’t tell a soul that you’re gay.”

“I should thank her,” Harry said sardonically. “But really. We have to keep the whole Neville thing quiet for a while longer.”

“The whole Neville thing?” Neville asked. “I’m so flattered.”

Harry leaned in and kissed him quickly on the lips, “You know what I mean.”

There was a commotion suddenly from outside. Harry and Ron ran to the window and saw Harry’s security guard in a stand-off with someone. They were face to face, wands pointed at each others’ chests.

Everyone ran outside. From this angle, Harry could see the person in a standoff with his guard was Viktor Krum. As he drew closer, now at a sprint, he saw Ginny standing there with him.   _Krum was Ginny’s new boyfriend?_ “It’s OK,” Harry called. But by the time he’d gotten close enough, both of them had lowered their wands and were shaking hands and smiling at each other.

“It’s all right,” Harry repeated as he caught up to them. He lay his hand on the guard’s shoulder, “They’re fine.”

The guard nodded, “Sorry about that,” he said.

Harry motioned for Ginny and Krum to follow him back to the house. “Sorry,” he said to them. “I’ve been ordered under constant security.”

“Harry, what’s going on?” Ginny asked, a hint of worry in her voice.

“Haven’t you read the papers?” Harry asked.

“Yes. We know about Skeeter and the murders. Why are you under guard?”

“Skeeter’s after me next. We got some good information and we know I’m her ultimate goal. So I’m bored out of my mind being stuck in the office or at home.” He turned to Krum, “Good to see you again, Viktor.”

“You too, Potter. Why is this woman, Skeeter, after you?”

“It’s a long story,” Harry sighed as they reached everyone else, who had come out to watch what was going on.

Dinner was nice. Since everyone there knew about him and Neville, Harry was able to relax a little in front of everyone. He was in a good mood - happy to finally be out of the house and out of the office. He took a plate of food out to his guard, and asked again if he’d like to come in.

“No thanks,” the guard said. “I’ll just eat out here.”

Harry knew that the guards who were protecting him had been given strict instructions about being on watch at all times, and they’d done admirably maintaining their professionalism. Still, he felt funny every time someone would look out the window and see the guard marching back and forth. Being let out of watch couldn’t happen soon enough.

After dinner, Harry was talking to Viktor about quidditch, when Viktor suddenly asked in his thick accent, “The newspapers say you are a homosexual. This is correct, yes?”

“Er, yes,” Harry answered.

Viktor nodded, “I am glad for you that you live in Britain. Where I come from people would not like you for that reason.”

“Oh,” Harry said, not quite sure what Viktor was getting at. “Well, even here I wanted to keep it a secret, but, you know with the murders.”

Viktor nodded as though he understood, “Of course, I am also happy because it means I could meet Ginny. She is a very great girl and an excellent quidditch player.”

“Yes,” Harry said, agreeing to both things.

“Potter, I do not care that you are homosexual. And a lot of other people in Bulgaria would not care either. I hope that it brings you happiness.”

“Yeah, thanks Viktor.” Harry said, somewhat mystified by the conversation.

****

The following Tuesday morning, Harry was trying to decide whether or not to go into the office when an owl came tapping at the window. Harry opened it and took the parchment off the owl’s leg.

_Potter-_

_The seed was planted at Azkaban yesterday afternoon. Per your instructions, I made it as snide and ‘believable’ as possible. I may have indicated that you were seen drunk and with your hands down the pants of several muggle men and with your tongue down their throats. We don’t have to rely on my father to get the information out though. Rookwood was receiving a visitor at the same time and my voice was loud enough that he overheard. Congratulations. A raving lunatic is coming for you. But at least she thinks she’s coming after a drunken, muggle fucking, man-whore. I hope that was snide enough for you._

_Malfoy_

Harry smiled quickly. He should have expected that any help from Malfoy would have to come with a dig. It wasn’t really important that Rita Skeeter and the death eaters would be convinced that Harry was going to these clubs to get drunk and laid. He had done that in the past, after all. Before he’d gotten together with Neville. In fact, Skeeter might let her guard down a little if she thought Harry would be drunk and distracted by sex.

“I need to go to the office today,” Harry looked up from the note. “Malfoy did it,” he explained.

Neville swallowed, “So what’s the plan?”

Harry shrugged, “I go out on Friday night. Saturday if I have to. And every weekend until she’s caught.”

“You won’t go alone?” Neville asked.

“No,” Harry shook his head. “We’ll go out in pairs, or in groups. Two or three at each club, I guess.”

“Can I request something?” Neville fiddled with his spoon a little.

“You can try.”

“I want Ron to go with you,” Neville said.

Harry tilted his head, “Why?” he asked.

Neville shrugged and looked down to his oatmeal, “I think Ron would be more protective of you than the others.”

Teddy came running into the kitchen, “Harry! Can we play Serpents?” Serpents was a game Teddy and Victoire had invented which consisted of little more than chasing each other on their bellies, pretending to be snakes. It was far easier for children to play than adults.

“Sorry, Teddy. I have to go to work today. I bet Neville would love to play with you though,” Harry glanced up at Neville who looked like he’d rather do nearly anything else besides try to slither around on the ground and catch Teddy.

“Sure I will,” he said agreeably anyway.

Harry gave Neville and Teddy kisses good bye, and went to the front stoop to let his overnight guard know that he was free to go.

Before stopping in his own office, Harry went straight to Jeffers and told him about the note from Malfoy that morning.

“Excellent,” Jeffers said, rubbing his hands together. “I’ve been trying to work this out in my head and I think I have a plan.”

He and Harry spent a while discussing the actual details of the plan, and which Aurors would be involved. After they had a good idea, Jeffers called a meeting of everyone who would be involved.

After lunch, the team had assembled. Harry and Jeffers were in Jeffers’ office, along with Ron and Sammy, as well as five other Aurors and a large team of obliviators.  Their plan involved going to the clubs in groups of three - two men acting as a couple and one woman as their friend.

“Harry tells me that a lot of the women there are straight and come with their gay guy friends,” Jeffers looked to Harry, who nodded in confirmation. He started to feel odd that everyone considered him an expert on gay muggle clubs in London. “We’re going to try to keep our contact with the muggles limited, but each team has one member who’s comfortable in muggle situations. “Harry’s the expert with Ron and Sammy, Julia’ll be the muggle expert with me and Matson, and Tony’s the expert with Violet and Greg.” Everyone nodded in agreement. “We don’t want to stick out”

“The group of three will go into your club and a team of obliviators will be stationed outside each club on standby to deal with any muggles.” Jeffers nodded toward the obliviators, who all nodded their consent.

“Once you’re in, stay with each other and keep an eye out for Skeeter. Remember, we won’t know if her hair will be brown or blonde. If you see her, keep her in your line of vision and use these,” Jeffers passed out gold galleon coins to everyone, “To contact us. These galleons are charmed, so if you see Skeeter, press on it and use the charm contactus and everyone else’s galleons will vibrate and will say who needs everyone else’s help. Leave your club and get to the one as soon as possible. If there’s a line, you can use a light confundus charm to get people to allow you in front. Just get in as soon as possible. What happens when you get there...well that’s something we won’t know until it happens. We want to take her down with as little commotion as possible. But getting her is priority. If muggles oversee something strange, we’ll have the whole of the obliviator department on standby to sort it out.”

He looked around his office, “Any questions?”

One first year Auror, Matson, raised his hand a little bit. “Look,” he said nervously, “I’m not trying to be an arse about this, but what if, er, you know. Some guy tries to hit on me?”

Jeffers looked to Harry, who said dryly, “You say no.” Ron snickered a little. “Really though,” Harry continued, “We’ve thought this through. That’s why we’re going in groups of two men, one woman. If someone hits on you, or wants you to dance, or wants to buy you a drink, just say you’re there with your boyfriend.”

“I assume this won’t be a problem?” Jeffers asked in a tone indicating it had better not be a problem.

“No,” Matson said quickly. “Of course not.”

They discussed strategy a little longer before the meeting was adjourned. “Meet in the lobby of the Ministry at eighteen hundred on Friday evening.” Jeffers ordered.  “We’ll be taking the tube together.”

_____

Harry was a bundle of nerves all week. Despite the fact that he’d done a better job of eating the prior two weeks, he was back to his stomach hurting too much to put too much food on it. Neville watched him carefully at each meal, and Harry would make a good faith effort at swallowing food.

When Friday came, he sat down for an early meal with Neville and Teddy. Teddy did most of the talking as Harry and Neville were wound too tightly to talk much.

They left Teddy in the sitting room, playing with his cat and his books, while Neville followed Harry up to their bedroom as Harry got dressed. Harry pulled a pair of dark muggle slim-fitted denims out of his closet and pulled them on. He added a fitted light pink button-up shirt. He looked at himself in the mirror and unbuttoned the shirt a little further.  Neville silently followed Harry to the bathroom, as Harry tried his hardest to tame his hair. When it didn’t work, he decided to use some muggle gel to spike it a little. Neville looked at him oddly, “Muggles sometimes wear their hair like this,” Harry explained.

“You look nice,” Neville said.

“Thanks.”

“Did you used to dress like this when you’d go to these clubs for real?”

Harry glanced at Neville in the mirror, their eyes meeting each other’s reflection. “Yes,” he nodded, wondering why Neville was asking. Neville didn’t say anything. “Does it bother you?”

“No,” Neville shook his head. “I don’t care that you went to clubs and shagged random muggle guys before we got together. You just look....different than you usually do.”

“I look different because I am different. That guy? The guy who blew strangers in a club bathroom isn’t really me. It was a guy I acted like because I was horny and terrified of being gay.”

“So who are you?”

Harry smiled, “I’m the guy you see every day. I’m the guy who leaves papers all over the house, and doesn’t bother to comb his hair, and has to be force-fed sometimes. I’m the guy who wants to go to bed with you every night until I die, which I promise you will not be tonight.”

Neville smiled and Harry hoped he was reassured. “Be careful tonight,” Neville pleaded.

Harry turned and embraced him, “I will be. You know I will be.”

____

Only Jeffers and Kingsley were in the lobby when Harry got there.

“Hi,” Harry said as he got to them. Jeffers looked as nervous as Harry felt.

“Do I look like a muggle?” Jeffers asked.

Harry looked him over. Jeffers was wearing flat-front khaki pants with a dark brown ribbed t-shirt. “Yes,” Harry nodded, “You look fine.”

Within the next ten minutes everyone else had arrived. A few modifications had to be made to clothes for those who didn’t quite get the muggle dress. Harry used his wand to clean Ron’s denim trousers and make them fit better. Then the baggy white tee Ron was wearing grew a collar and tightened up a little.

“Oi,” Ron said wiggling around in his newly fitted clothes, “What’s this about?”

“You’re a muggle going out to a club, Ron,” Harry explained. “You aren’t a muggle sitting at home in front of the telly.”

Ron shot him a look indicating he had no idea the difference between the two, but he didn’t argue the point with Harry at all.

When they were gathered, Kingsley had them in a circle and began distributing muggle money. “You’ll need this for the tube and for cover charges to get in the club. The muggle expert in your group can help you out with it. If people look at you oddly for not understanding the money, just explain that you’re foreign.” Everyone took their money and stored it in their pockets.

“There are teams of five obliviators near each of the clubs already. They have their charmed galleons in their pockets. I’ll be waiting here for word from you. I have one of your charmed galleons, so I’ll be in the know. If Skeeter is captured, I need to be present for her questioning, which will take place in the Auror conference room and under veritaserum.”

He looked around seriously, “Good luck. And remember - you’re playing the part of muggles going out for a good night. So try not to look like you’re going to a funeral” he smiled kindly.

They laughed nervously and tried to relax their shoulders. Trying out smiles on each other to see if they looked like happy muggles out for a night on the town. There were partiers and revelers on the tube that night, so talking wasn’t much of an option for them anyway. Harry and the other muggle experts led the others through the cavernous stations and onto the crowded tube.

As they got out of the station, they parted ways. When the others were gone, Harry said to Ron and Sammy, “Look. I wanted us to go to this one because it’s nearest the station, so Skeeter is likely to come here first. But, I want to warn you that this club is kind of...intense. The other clubs are a little laid back, but this one is really....” Harry drifted off, “Guys come here to get laid. Full stop. There’s a lot of, er...action going on.”

“Will we stand out?” Ron asked.

“No,” Harry shook his head. “We’ll just stick together and no one will look twice at us. There are people who are just there to watch, also.” He looked up, “here it is.”

They were there a little earlier than most revelers would be, so they got in line, looking around for Skeeter. They didn’t see her by the time they got to the front of the line. They each paid their cover charge, Ron and Sammy watching which bills Harry was pulling out, and went in.

The music was already loud even though the club wasn’t nearly full yet. Most patrons were not on the dance floor quite yet, but were surrounding the bar. “Let’s go over to the corner,” Harry said, pointing to one corner of the club, “We’ll get a better view from there.”

The three of them made their way over to the corner, keeping an eye on the door. “This should be fine for now, right?” Ron asked. “We just look like we’re waiting for a friend to show up.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, his eyes darting around, “We’ll be fine here for a bit.”

They waited in silence for a while, all of them carefully scanning the room for signs of Skeeter. It didn’t take long for the club to begin filling up and there were too many people between them and the door to properly keep watch over it. “Should we move?” Sammy asked.

At that moment, a man of about forty came over to them, he winked at Harry. “Hey shorty,” he smiled. “Want to dance?”

“Er..” Harry was caught off-guard.

“He’s with me,” Ron said putting his arm around Harry’s shoulder and pulling him close.

The man eyed Ron, who stared back blankly. Then he glanced at Harry, who nodded. “We’re here together,” he said.

“Let me know if you want something a little less ginger,” he said to Harry then winked and walked away.

Ron turned to Harry. “Shorty?”

Harry sighed, “I look younger than I am because I’m short. Some guys are kind of....into that.” Ron made a face and Harry reassured him, “You did great though.”

“Let’s move a little closer to the door,” Sammy said. Her face showed that she clearly had enjoyed watching Harry get hit on. “You know,” she said to Harry as they made their way to the wall closer to the entrance and nearer the bar, “I was flirting with you when we first started on this case together.”

“I know,” Harry admitted.

“You could have told me,” she said. “Save me a lot of embarrassment.”

Harry smiled, “Nah,” he laughed, “I had barely told anyone.”

 _“You_ could have told me,” she poked Ron in the side.

Ron laughed too, “Sorry, Sammy. None of my business, is it?”

She sighed, “They say all the good ones are taken or gay.”

Ron laughed loudly at this, “Who says that?”

“Women of a certain age who are still unmarried. You know, me and most of my friends.”

“Well, stop flirting with the gay ones, and maybe you can be one to take some of the good ones,” Ron offered cheerfully.

Sammy rolled her eyes, “Says the guy who got married about two seconds after graduating from Hogwarts.”

“Psssh,” Ron said. “I knew I’d never find someone better than Hermione. Don’t even know how I managed to get her to like me in the first place.” They made their way to the wall and had a slightly better view of the door.

“I can’t see as well as you can, Ron,” Harry said. “You need to be the eyes for a bit.”

They stood silently with Ron watching the door, and Harry and Sammy eyeing the bar and dance floor as far as they could see. Harry noticed Sammy getting distracted by the men dancing and openly snogging on the dance floor. She nudged Harry, “You come here often?” she asked.

“Not anymore.”

“Did you ever, er....” she drifted off waving vaguely toward a couple snogging heavily and doing more of a pelvic grind than a dance.

“Yeah,” Harry admitted, the heat rising in his face. “But come on, we’re on duty. Pay attention to something else, all right?”

“Right,” Sammy said, snapping her attention back to the bar.

They were silent for a bit, carefully watching the crowd when Ron suddenly made a move. He pivoted on the balls of his feet and stood immediately in front of Harry and pressed Harry to the wall.

Harry’s body was trapped between the wall and Ron’s taller and bulkier body. “Uh, Ron?” He asked.

Ron lowered his head so his mouth was near Harry’s ear, “She’s here.” Ron’s breath was warm and moist in his ear.

“What are you doing to me?” Harry asked back.

“I’m protecting you,” Ron said as though Harry were an idiot for not realizing it. He put both of his hands on the wall, on either side of Harry’s head, almost entirely blocking Harry from view. Ron turned his head slightly to Sammy. “Hit your galleon. Go by the door and wait for the others. Harry and I are staying right here.”

“Ron,” Harry said. “I appreciate you protecting me like this, but you may have noticed that I’m an Auror and perfectly capable of handling myself.”

“Shut it,” Ron snapped. “I promised Neville I’d do this.”

“You promised?” Harry asked. “Oh for Merlin’s sake,” Harry snapped. “He’s treating me like a child.”

“He loves you,” Ron said. “If it was you and Hermione, I’d expect you’d do the same for either of us.”

“Well, with Sammy by the door, and me being pinned against the wall by someone a half foot taller than me, you having your back turned, we aren’t exactly going to be able to see where she is, are we?”

“Good point,” Ron said. “I need my wand. I’ll do a supersensory charm.” He didn’t move, but Harry looked him in the eye. Ron rolled his eyes. “I don’t want to move my hand, Harry. Will you please get my wand out of my waist holster?”

“Oh for Merlin’s sake,” Harry said for the second time in less than a minute. He reached down to the waistline of Ron’s trousers and stuck his fingers in lightly.

“It’s on your left,” Ron said. “My right.”

Harry surreptitiously crept the wand out of the holster and handed it to Ron, who cast the charm quickly and handed his wand back to Harry, who stuck it back in the waist of Ron’s trousers.

“Yeah,” he said. “I can see her. She hasn’t noticed Sammy by the door. She’s scanning the crowd. Hmm, she’s glancing our way. Shit, Harry. She thinks you’re coming here to get laid, and from her viewpoint I look like someone snogging a short man.” Ron paused. “Oh for crying out loud. She’s not even wearing muggle clothes. She’s in her effing bright green robes.”

“Just keep an eye on her,” Harry whispered, closing his eyes and wanting this to be over already. As much as he knew he was on duty, he couldn’t help but be slightly turned on by all the visuals he’d seen so far that evening. Really fit men kissing and groping other really fit men? And now his really fit best friend was pressing his body into his, making Harry feel a weird mixtures of apprehension and desire, which was so awkward and he wanted an end to it all.

“She’s looking away,” Ron said. “I don’t think she gave us another thought.” Ron’s eyes darted back and forth. “Sammy’s with Jeffers, Julia, and Matson. Oh, and Violet, Tony and Greg just walked in. Sammy’s pointing them in our direction and in Skeeter’s direction. OK, Harry. Jeffers and Matson are on their way over.”

A few seconds later, Jeffers positioned himself against the wall and Matson stood in front of him, in much the same position that Harry and Ron were in.

Jeffers spoke, “The others are surrounding Skeeter, but slowly and from behind.”

“I can see them,” Ron said. “Supersensory charm.”

“Excellent idea, Weasley,” Jeffers said. “Let us know when they’re in position and we’ll go. We hope that by all of us appearing and it being crowded, she’ll go without much of a fight. But the obliviators are all outside waiting.”

Ron breathed heavily, his eyes darting back and forth. “They’re in position, and Skeeter’s facing the far wall. Now’s our chance.”

At once, Ron and Matson let go, turned with Harry and Jeffers following them. They had to dart through several men. Ron, the tallest in their group, gave a quick wave to Greg in the other group and they all started working their way slowly toward Skeeter.

By the time she noticed Jeffers, he was standing a mere three feet in front of her. She turned, thinking she’d get away only to come face to face with Harry and Ron.

Skeeter drew her wand, “Not here,” Harry said loudly enough for a handful of men to look curiously in their direction. He had one hand out to her in the ‘stop’ sign and the other hand twitching right above the wand in his hip holster.

Skeeter glanced around and saw the others slowly approaching. A few people on the dance floor seemed to be aware that something was happening, but they weren’t quite sure what. When there were enough Aurors around her, they started slowly shepherding her through the crowd toward the exit, Harry’s hand holding her elbow. They drew some curious stares, but Harry wondered if that wasn’t Skeeter’s bright robes more than anything else.

As they were mere feet from the exit, Skeeter quickly raised her wand and “BANG,” set off a loud noise and a cloud of smoke.

People began screaming and rushing for the exits. Skeeter used the confusion to yank her arm free of Harry’s grasp and make a run for it. Harry could spy her robes, just barely, through the smoke and he took off after her.

She ran into the street, nearly colliding with the obliviators who were rushing inside. Harry pushed through the obliviators and chased her. Skeeter was running her hardest, casting spells over her shoulder toward Harry. She missed by feet every time as she wasn’t turning around to see where she was casting.

Harry was quickly gaining ground on her, and she must have realized it because she stopped and turned toward him, her wand pointed at him. He kept running full-tilt. There was a look of surprise on her face, and as she turned to apparate, Harry was able to just grab onto her robes and he was taken with her as she disapparated.


	16. The Help of Squibs

 

Rita Skeeter was swatting at Harry, trying to get him to let go of her robe as they traveled quickly through space. He used every last bit of strength to not only hold onto her robes, but pull himself toward her. By the time they landed with a hard thud in the middle of a field, Harry had managed to wrap his arms around her torso.

****

“Ugh,” he said as the wind was knocked out of him. They’d landed with Harry on his back, his right leg in an uncomfortable position, and Skeeter on top of him. Harry had no idea where he was. It was pouring rain, it was an empty field, and there were lights in the far distance which looked like a very tiny village.

****

That he broke Skeeter’s fall meant that she had no problem standing up, while Harry had to take several gulping breaths, the rain water falling into his mouth with every breath. Skeeter picked her wand up off the ground and pointed it at Harry. “ _Avada_ -” she said.

****

Harry raised his own wand and with breath that wasn’t ready for it, gasped “P _rotego!_ ”

****

Skeeter’s curse bounced off Harry’s shield as though it were made of rubber. That didn’t deter her. She was standing over him, flinging curse after curse at him, and all Harry could do was to keep his shield up.

****

As his breath evened out, he was able to stand, while keeping his shield in front of him. But he could barely move. The fall had done something to his knee and it was painful enough just standing on it. Skeeter wasn’t taking a break. As one curse was rebounding off the shield, another was streaking out of her wand. All Harry could manage was to keep the shield open and protecting him. It took concentration to keep the protego shield up that long. As he started to consider ways to get at her, the shield started to waver. He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t think of any way he would be able to put the shield down. All he could do was to wait for her to tire herself out.

****

But it wasn’t happening. Minute passed in to minute and the curses were flying at an ever more impressive rate toward Harry. The rain was making his wand slippery, and he needed to use a second hand to hold it steady. The energy required to keep the protego shield up was zapping him. He didn’t think he’d be able to stand to keep it up any longer.

****

He glanced at the ground, wondering if he’d be able to apparate back to London before the Avada Kedavra could hit him when he saw a rock. He gripped the wand harder in his right hand, concentrated with all his might on keeping the shield up, and bent down to pick up the rock with his left hand. His knee screamed in pain.

****

There was a slight pause in the curses that were flying at him before they resumed. Skeeter looked crazed and mad and quite surprised that Harry would pick up the rock and consider something as commonly muggle as throwing a rock at her.

****

Harry kept the shield up and walked closer to Skeeter. She backed up, adding a slight panicked look to her face. He kept walking closer and closer when he had a stroke of luck.

****

One of Skeeter’s heels sank into the soft rain-soaked ground and she tripped and fell backward. The moment of pause in the curses was enough time for Harry to drop the shield, throw the rock at Skeeter’s wand arm and immediately cast a horribly-aimed stunning spell at her.

****

The spell missed by centimeters, but the rock had knocked her arm back enough that she lost the grasp on her wand. As she began grasping to hold onto the wand, Harry hit her with a stunning spell.

****

Her body went completely rigid. Harry leaned down and grabbed her wand out of her statue-like hand and stuck it in the waist of his trousers. Then he fell down into the wet grass next to her to catch his breath. A few minutes passed before Harry realized he needed to find a way out. His knee was aching, and already swelling under his trousers. He wouldn’t be able to apparate on it himself, much less while carrying a stunned Rita Skeeter.

****

He cast a quick lumos and looked around. The field they were in was completely empty, no houses nearby. He looked at the lights of the village in the distance and tried to determine how far it was. He soon realized he had no choice but to make his way to the village. He couldn’t send his patronus for help, because he had no clue where he was.

****

Harry used the quickly zapping strength in his arms to push himself in a standing position. He groaned as the weight of his body made his injured knee buckle. He levitated Rita Skeeter, and slowly began walking toward the village. His feet were sinking into the wet ground, making his knee scream in pain with each step.

****

It took nearly a half hour for Harry to make it to the village. He cast a disillusionment charm on Skeeter’s body and continued on. The village turned out to be much bigger than it seemed from the distance. It was a fair-sized town, reminding Harry a little bit of Surrey, near where he’d grown up.  

****

No one was outside in the driving rain, so as Harry went down the main lane through the town, no one looked at him. He noticed a sign that read “Carrington Ale House,” in the distance, and decided he’d go in and ask someone if he could use their mobile to call Hermione. A man jogged past Harry, getting ready to head into the pub.

****

Harry stuck his wand up his sleeve, and lowered Skeeter’s body onto a bench. “Excuse me!” Harry called out to the man. The man turned and looked at him. Harry approached, “I’ve lost my phone and I need a ride. Could I use your mobile to call my friend?”

****

The man motioned Harry under the awning of the Ale House to get out of the rain. He lowered his hood and smiled at Harry. He handed Harry the phone, “Wonder what we ever did before these things sometimes.”

****

Harry nodded in agreement and took the man’s phone with wet shaky hands. He dialed Hermione’s number and she answered immediately.

****

“Hermione. It’s Harry.”

****

“Harry,” she screeched, “Where _are_ you? Everyone is worried.”

****

“I’m in....” Harry looked around, “Where am I?” he asked the man.

****

The man crooked an eyebrow at him. “You’re in West Carrington.”

****

“West Carrington,” Harry said into the phone. “Do you know it? I need help getting out of here.”

****

“Can you apparate? Do you have Skeeter?”

****

“I hurt my knee too bad. And yes I do.”

****

Hermione sighed with relief. “Harry, you’re in luck. I think I have a quick way for you to get out of there. I’m going to call you back in a few minutes with instructions.”

****

“Thanks,” Harry hung up. He turned to the man, “My friend is going to call me back in a minute.”

****

“How’d you end up here?” The man asked suspiciously.

****

“It’s a long story,” Harry said. The man looked at him, expecting him to go on. Harry had to think fast. “I got into a fight with my girlfriend. We were going on a holiday for the weekend and she got mad at me and kicked me out of the car. I thought she’d come back, but...” Harry shrugged.

****

“Boy,” the man laughed, booming. “You must have done something awful!”

****

“Heh,” Harry laughed weakly, “You could say that.”

****

“What’d you do?”

****

“Er....” Harry said. He needed to find a lie that made it believable a girl would kick him out of the car on a rainy night, but not so bad the man would refuse the use of his phone. “I drank too much and had a thing with someone else.”

****

“Ouch.”

****

“Yeah,” Harry nodded. The phone rang and Harry looked down. It had Hermione’s number on it. He answered, “Hermione?”

****

“Harry, there’s a squib in town and we’re connecting his fireplace to the floo network right now for you. He lives at 324 Wembley Lane. He’s expecting you.”

****

“Thanks. I owe you big time.”

****

“Come to the Ministry,” Hermione said. “I'll contact everyone to let them know you're coming there.”

****

“Right. See you in a bit.” Harry hung up and looked at the man, “Can you tell me the way to Wembley Lane?”

****

“It’s about a ten minute walk from here,” the man said. “Up the street this way,” he pointed past the Ale House, “Then make a right on Twelfth Street. Wembley is just one block up. Listen, you’re limping badly. You want me to drive you?”

****

Harry glanced at the bench where the stupefied body of Rita Skeeter lay. He wanted nothing more than to accept the man’s offer of a ride, but there would be no way to sneak Skeeter in the car. “No thanks,” Harry said. “I’m already soaked. Another ten minutes won’t hurt.”

****

“You sure?” he asked.

****

Harrry nodded, “But thanks a lot. I appreciate you letting me use the phone.” They shook hands and the man headed into the ale house. Harry keeping his wand half up his sleeve, levitated Skeeter’s body and began walking toward Twelfth Street.

****

The man had said it would be a ten minute walk, but with his knee hurting more with each step and the driving rain, it took Harry more than twice that long. He stumbled up the front stoop of 324 wincing with each step, and rang the doorbell.

****

An elderly man answered the door, “You the wizard I got a call about?” he asked.

****

“Yes, sir,” Harry nodded. “I’m Harry Potter.”

****

The man opened the door to let him in. “I’m Edward Fitzpatrick. I was told you had a woman with you. Some criminal?”

****

Harry lowered Skeeters body to the ground and re-illusioned her. The man gasped, “Is she dead?”

****

“Stunned,” Harry answered. He did a quick drying spell over himself, then after considering only the carpet in Mr. Fitzpatrick’s place, dried Skeeter off as well. He conjured some rope and tied her wrists behind her back. He conjured more and tied her ankles, leaving about a foot in slack so she could walk. He knew he couldn’t support her in the fireplace.

****

“What’d she do?” the man asked.

****

“Killed four people.”

****

The man gasped. “Is she one of them that was killing muggle-borns a few years back?”

****

“No,” Harry shook his head. “She’s killing homosexuals.”

****

The man shook his head sadly, “What’s the world coming to? Muggles and wizards alike.” He paused, “Are you the Harry Potter that killed the guy who must not be named?”

****

“That’s me,” Harry said. “Has anyone from the Ministry come and set up your fireplace?”

****

“Yeah,” he said. “They left this for you,” and he held out a small bowl with floo powder. “But let me help you with that knee first.”

****

Harry looked down, his knee had swollen to the point of his trousers tightening around it. “I’ll be OK.”

****

Mr. Fitzpatrick waved his hand, “I’m a nurse, and I’ve an extra brace from when I had surgery on my own knee a few years back.”

****

Harry thought for a moment, realizing it’d be hours before he could get to St. Mungo’s and finally said, “Yeah, that’d be great.” And he sat down on the couch, openly moaning at the relief he felt at getting off the knee.

****

Mr. Fitzpatrick went to fetch the brace. Harry looked at Skeeter and decided to leave her stunned until just before it was time to leave.

****

He came back with a plastic and metal contraption and a pair of scissors. “Pants off.” He said.

****

Harry unbuttoned and unzipped his denims and pulled them off.

****

Mr. Fitzpatrick did a low whistle. “That looks painful,” he said as he pulled the brace up Harry’s leg. He worked on getting it fitted properly to Harry’s leg. “I hope you’re not attached to those trousers,” Mr. Fitzpatrick said, nodding toward Harry’s denims.

****

“Not especially.”

****

“Good, because you need to cut the seam to get it over the brace,” he handed Harry the scissors and the pants. Harry put the scissors down and used his wand to cut down the inseam of the trousers. Mr. Fitzpatrick laughed, “I forgot you could do that. I haven’t seen anyone use magic in years, not since my parents died over a decade ago.”

****

“Thank you for helping me out,” Harry said as Mr. Fitzpatrick finished up with the brace. Harry stood with an assist from Mr. Fitzpatrick. “This feels all right,” Harry said. “It keeps me from bending it.”

****

“That’s the point,” the older man smiled.

****

Harry pointed his wand at Skeeter, “ _Enervate_ ,” he said.

****

She popped up to her feet, “You’ll pay for this Potter.”

****

“Thanks again,” Harry said as he walked, somewhat clumsily, toward Skeeter and grabbed her by the elbow. She brushed him off and pushed him so he nearly toppled over. Harry sighed and pointed his wand at her, “ _Imperio_.”

****

He hated using the imperius curse, but he saw no other way to force her into the fireplace. He threw some floo powder in, made Skeeter go in, then followed her in. “Ministry of Magic!” he said, and he and Skeeter were pulled through the network together.

______

****

They fell out of the Ministry floo together. The Aurors and obliviators were waiting anxiously. As soon as they were out, Harry lifted the imperius curse and Skeeter attempted to run away. She was quickly apprehended by Matson and Jeffers, who each held on to her by her elbows.

****

Ron ran to Harry’s side, his face pale and his body shaking slightly. His eyes were red-rimmed as though he’d been crying.

****

Kingsley asked the Aurors to wait for further instruction, which he, Harry, Ron, Jeffers, and Sammy went to the questioning room.

 

"We were so worried,” Ron said to Harry. “What happened?”

****

“I held onto her when she disapparted. We ended up in a field near West Carrington.”

****

“Your leg OK?”

****

Harry shrugged, “I landed on my knee and Skeeter landed on me. I’ll head to St. Mungo’s after we question her.”

****

They got into the conference room and sat Rita on one side of the table. Kingsley and Harry sat on the other side, while Ron, Sammy and Jeffers conjured seats behind them. Kingsley took out a large scroll of parchment and a self-writing quill. “This is the official document of the questioning of Marguerite Skeeter for the crimes of murdering Rolanda Hooch, Margaret Murphy, Brooks Fairchild, a muggle, and Clark Everett, a muggle.” The quill wrote everything down that Kingsley said. “Veritaserum was administered, three drops into the mouth, at” Kingsley looked at his pocket watch, “Twenty One hundred hours.”

****

Kingsley pulled a small vial out of his robe pocket, and leaned over the table. Rita Skeeter held her mouth closed and Kingsley reached over and pinched her nose. After a few moments she opened her mouth to breath, and Kingsley emptied the vial into her mouth.

****

“State your name, please.”

****

“Marguerite Skeeter, more commonly known as Rita Skeeter.”

****

“Did you murder Rolanda Hooch?”

****

“Yes.”

****

“Margaret Murphy?”

****

“Yes.”

****

“Brooks Fairchild and Clark Everett?”

****

“Yes.”

 

"Where have you been living these past few weeks?"

 

Skeeter looked very much like it pained her to answer, "Adelaide MacNair gave me a place to stay."

 

"Is she a Death Eater?" Kingsley asked.

 

"Yes," Rita nodded. "Voldemort left several Death Eaters unmarked, including Adelaide, in case he'd been fallen, he would have loyalty outside Azkaban."

 

"ARe you a Death Eater?"

 

"No."

 

"Were you working under Death Eater's orders?"

 

"No."

 

Kingsley got up and went outside the door. Harry heard him quietly telling the Aurors awaiting him to apprehend Adelaide MacNair. Kingsley sat back down, and stated in his low voice “Let’s start from the beginning. Did you spend time in Azkaban for breaking and entering into the home of Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom?”

 

“Yes.”

****

“Was your memory modified about what you had seen in their home?”

 

“Yes.”

****

“Did you recover those memories?”

****

“No.”

****

“So what happened?”

****

“I took notes, while I was in their house and kept them on my person. They stayed with me while I transformed into a beetle, then when I was in Azkaban, I sent them to myself and they were waiting for me at my house when I was released.”

****

“Do you have those notes now?”

****

Skeeter looked pained, “Yes.”

****

“Bring them out please.” Skeeter reached into the inside of her robe pockets and handed them over to Kingsley. Kingsley glanced at the moving quill, “This will be entered into the file under evidence.”  He began rifling through them. “What language is this written in?”

****

“Shorthand.”

****

Kingsley raised his eyebrows at her. Then he said to the others, “My secretary will be able to translate them.”

****

“No she won’t,” Skeeter said, looking very much like she wished she hadn’t spoken up. “It’s a shorthand I taught myself. I’m the only one who can read it.”

****

“Very well,” Kingsley said, “Read it into the record, please,” and he slid the notes across the table toward her.

****

“Everything?” She asked, smirking at Harry.

****

“Everything.”

****

“Wait,” Harry interrupted. He pointed the wand at the quill, “Off record,” and the quill stopped moving. He then cast a muffliato charm so Skeeter couldn’t overhear. “I think she wrote some pretty personal things in there about me.”

****

Kingsley looked at him appraisingly, “It’s evidence, Harry. It needs to be on the record in a readable format.”  Harry looked pensive, and after a moment’s pause, Kingsley continued, “Only two of us need to be here. As the lead investigator, you need to be here for the whole questioning period, but if you’d like you can ask three of us to leave and only one more to stay.”

****

Harry thought for a moment. He didn’t really care to have Jeffers and Sammy hear his personal business. And he knew it might offend Ron, but he didn’t really want Ron in there either. One of his worries the whole time about telling Ron about being gay had been that it would somehow magnify a difference between him and Ron and create a rift between them. He knew Ron was, in theory, all right with him being gay, but Harry couldn’t lose Ron as a friend and he feared that, if Skeeter went into lascivious detail about his sex life, Ron would be creeped out. Harry took a deep breath, “Kingsley. I want you to stay.”

****

“Can you give us a few minutes?” Kingsley asked the other three. Harry glanced at Ron, who looked mystified, and possibly a bit hurt. Ron, Jeffers, and Sammy left the room.

****

Harry took down the muffliato and pointed his wand at the quill, “Continue recording.” Harry turned to Skeeter. “Read it, please.”

****

“All right,” she said, smiling slightly. “Got into the house on Longbottom’s robes. He shed his robes upstairs and by the time I crawled back down, he and Potter were eating dinner. Boring conversation about Longbottom’s plans for the greenhouse. Mentioned that they were watching Teddy Lupin the upcoming weekend. After dinner, Longbottom showered and Potter went to his study to read. I watched Potter in his study. He went to bed and I transformed. Looked through his desk. Found a copy of a  muggle book about surviving childhood abuse. It’s known he wasn’t happy with the muggles. But abuse? (*Note* possibly sneak into the Dursley house to look for info?). Potter keeps drawers full of candy, like a big child. Gringotts records show he is disgustingly wealthy. So much that he’s put an order in for a larger vault. Some records of Longbottom’s are mixed in with Potter’s. Longbottom has a lot of money too, but not nearly as much as Potter. Longbottom covers his parents St.Mungo’s costs. Potter gives money to Andromeda Tonks, presumably for Teddy Lupin’s care. Both give money to the muggle-born fund, as well as to the Hogwarts Board.”

****

Skeeter took a breath and continued, “Slept during the day while Potter & Longbottom were at work. Woke and transformed just minutes before Longbottom got home. He had a dinner with him. Shocked when Potter came home and kissed Longbottom hello. Potter -gay? And with Longbottom? Find out - how long has this been going on? Who else knows? How do they keep it a secret? Why are they never in public together? How many people even know Longbottom is living here?  Watching them prepare dinner, obvious they are comfortable together. Very touchy-feely. Waited through dinner then made the slow climb upstairs after they were done eating. By the time I got there, they were already in the middle of sex. Have never seen gay sex before - it was interesting. Most interesting is that Longbottom tops and is very dominant over Potter, who seemed happy to have his arms tied to the bedposts and blindfolded.”

****

Harry felt his face go red, and he squirmed in his seat refusing to make eye contact with Kingsley. Skeeter’s smirk got wider as she read on. “With Potter blindfolded, Longbottom straddled his face and shoved his penis far down Potter’s throat. But he moaned like he loved having his mouth fucked. Interesting note, Longbottom is more well-hung than Potter. Longbottom pulled out after a few minutes and scooted down. Made Potter beg for it as he used his wand to produce some lube, which Longbottom spread on his fingers and shoved up Potter’s bum. Potter can get an impressive arch to his back and he kept begging for it. Longbottom used the wand to squirt lube directly on Potters bum and entered him. From that point, it was fairly quick, both seemed ready to burst and did within a minute. They cleaned themselves off and lay in bed. They cuddled and kissed, showered then came to bed. They read for a few minutes - I noticed Potter did not read the abuse book in front of Longbottom. Before lights out, they had another quick round of sex. This time oral sex, at the same time. To be young and have that stamina again.”

****

Skeeter took another deep breath, “Searching now for proof I can bring about their relationship. But other than what I saw last night, and combined bank records - which even the _Prophet_ would respectfully not published - I’m finding nothing.”  Skeeter looked up. “That’s all I wrote.”

****

Kingsley had the quill stop taking notes, put up another muffliato between Skeeter and them and asked Harry, “Are you all right?”

****

“Humiliated,” Harry answered honestly. “This is going to be part of the final file on this case? That means it’ll be available to The Prophet.”

****

“I have the power to redact information from it before releasing it to the press, and I will do that in this case.” He took a moment where he regarded Harry’s stooped figure and blushing face, “Harry. Everybody has sex. Most of us do things like get tied to bedposts and whatnot.”

****

“But you don’t have it spelled out for you by someone who was caught spying on you.”

****

“True. But if it makes you feel any better, I have had nights with my wife that would have made me blush just as much to hear it described.”

****

Harry smiled slightly, “That actually does make me feel a little better,” he admitted.

****

“Go get the others,” Kingsley said, patting Harry on his uninjured knee reassuringly.  Harry went to the door and motioned the others to come in.

****

“What happened after you got out of Azkaban?” Kingsley asked Skeeter, as Ron, Jeffers and Sammy situated themselves back in their seats.

****

“I went home and read the notes. I don’t remember what I saw, I just read those notes. So I tried to write an article about it, but I couldn’t spell Potter’s name. I couldn’t write about him in other words either, Auror Potter, the Boy Who Lived, Savior of the Wizarding World. I tried to talk to Dirlby at the Prophet, but I was tongue-tied.”

****

“Did you plan these murders in advance?”

****

“Yes and no.”

****

“Explain how it happened.”

****

“It took a while, but I discovered a way I could write Potter’s name. I could make an acrostic, though McGonagall’s curse was strong enough I couldn’t write it all at once. So I started with the first three letters. I carried that note around for weeks wondering what I could do with it. I needed something big to capture people’s attention, something gay-related. I was having a drink with a couple of friends in the Hog’s Head when I saw Madam Hooch go by, and it came to me suddenly. I excused myself to the restroom, and apparated to the Owl Post and waited for her to come out. I took her by surprise, but I did the Avada Kedavra and immediately apparated back to the restroom at Hog’s Head.”

****

“Your friends never put two and two together?” Ron asked.

****

“My friends aren’t the brightest.” Rita looked very much like she didn’t want to say that honestly.

****

“When did you find out Margaret Murphy is gay?” Kingsley continued

****

“Before I went to Azkaban, I did a fluff piece on the Cannons for the Prophet. I overheard things between her and her girlfriend. I didn’t care much about it at the time, people are always more interested in the players’ lives. But I remembered it. I managed to find out Margaret was going to be at The Leaky. I owled her the afternoon before she was to get in to tell her I wanted to follow up with her for the article I’d worked on the year prior. I was hoping she wouldn’t have time to tell anyone about the interview and I lucked out. I dyed my hair brown, took of my glasses and wore plain black robes. That way, if my name became connected to the crime, I could dye my hair back to blonde and also mention seeing a woman with curly brown hair.”

****

“How about the muggles?”

****

Skeeter shrugged, “I don’t even know those men. I was wandering around muggle London and I saw the guys kissing through a window. I did a quick disillusionment charm and waited near the building. I was in luck that when they left, they just went to the flat upstairs. I thought I was going to have to follow them all through London.”

****

“Why did you do it?” Ron asked, still baffled.

****

“To get back at Potter.”

****

Kingsley, Ron, Jeffers and Sammy all looked at Harry, expecting a reaction. Harry kept his face impassive though his insides were churning with the familiar taste of bile. “Get back at me for what?” Harry asked evenly.

****

“You ruined my life, Potter. It all began during the Tri-Wizard tournament and your little friend figured out I was an animagus. Then you got me put in Azkaban, had my memory modified and cursed so I couldn’t speak of you, or perform an animagus.”

****

“How does killing four innocent people get back at me, exactly?”

****

“Oh I know you, Potter. I know that you’re going to blame yourself for this. I know that you’re going to look back and wish you’d been honest with the media in the first place about being gay and about being with Longbottom. I may not have killed you, but I the blood of the four that I did is on your hands.”

****

Harry stared at Skeeter for a few long moments. “So it’s my fault four people are dead?”

****

Skeeter nodded, “Yes.”

****

“I think we’re done here,” Harry snapped. He started to get up from his seat, before remembering his knee and remained sitting.

****

Kingsley stopped the quill and cast another muffliato before turning a concerned eye on Harry. Ron leaned forward, “I can tell what you’re thinking, Harry. This isn’t your fault.”

****

“Of course it’s not,” Harry snapped, but Ron had read him well. MacGonagall had called him out on not acting like a Gryffindor all those months ago when he’d brought Rita in to her and she was right, wasn’t she?

****

“Harry, don’t lie to me. I can tell when you’re lying. Listen, it’s not your fault.”

****

Harry looked at him and down at his hands. “Whatever you say, Ron.”

****

“Dammit. It’s not,” Ron raised his voice. “Don’t let this eat at you. You haven’t done a thing wrong.”

****

Harry looked up at Ron, his best friend who’d been by his side for years. Ron, who had barely blinked when Harry opened up about being gay. Ron who had looked pale and like he’d been crying when Harry and Skeeter fell out of the Ministry floos earlier that night. He knew, of course, that Ron was right. But he’d never stop wondering if things would have been different if he’d handled things in another way. If he and Neville had gone public with their relationship. “I know,” Harry said quietly.

****

“I’m going to escort Skeeter to Azkaban” Kingsley said, standing up. “Harry, you need to get to St. Mungo’s. Why don’t you use Ron as a crutch and Ron can get you there.”

****

Ron stood up and offered Harry his hand. Harry took it and Ron hoisted him up. “I told Hermione to get in touch with Neville,” Ron said as Harry wrapped an arm around Ron’s shoulder and Ron guided Harry toward the door. “He might be here, but if he isn’t I’ll floo to your house and bring him to St. Mungo’s.”

****

“Thanks,” Harry said, grimacing as he and Ron made their way across the office. As soon as they opened the door, it became evident that someone, somehow, had notified the press. There were reporters and photographers crowding around the door waiting to get a shot and shouting questions at Harry.

****

Answering questions was the last thing he felt like doing, so held on to Ron, who lowered his shoulder and tried to make their way through the crowd. Once the reporters realized that Kingsley was following with Skeeter in custody, they gave Harry and Ron some room.

****

As the crowd of reporters parted slightly, Harry saw a panicked looking Neville standing there looking terrified. “Neville,” Harry said reaching out to him.

 **  
**Neville hurried toward them, knocking one photographer out of the way, who looked at him, wondering what he was doing. While the other photographers were snapping Kingsley and Skeeter, this was the photographer who would end up taking a shot of Neville pulling Harry out of Ron’s grasp, and Harry and Neville embracing and kissing, Harry reaching his hand up pulling Neville in toward him. This shot would become famous, and Harry remained grateful to the photographer for doing for him what he’d been too cowardly to do himself: tell everyone how much he loved Neville Longbottom.


	17. Ron's Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only two chapters to go. Last chapter will be up tomorrow.

****

Harry was lying on a bed in St. Mungo’s. Ron and Neville were by his side. Harry described what had happened with Skeeter when he disapparated.

A healer came in, “Mr. Potter, I’m going to put you in an enchanted sleep while I work on getting your knee straightened out.”

“Will it be all right?” Harry asked.

“You’ll be fine,” she said, patting his shoulder reassuringly. “That muggle did you a great service by immobilizing it. But there is still quite a bit of swelling for the spell to get through and it will be quite painful if you’re awake for it.”

“How long will I be out?”

“About two hours. The spell will only take a few minutes for me to cast, but it’ll take about two hours for full healing to go in effect.”

Harry nodded, “OK. I’m ready.” He turned to Ron and urged, “Go home to Hermione. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Ron nodded and stood up, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Harry.”

Harry and Neville watched Ron leave, “Who’s watching Teddy?” Harry asked.

“Bill is there now. Molly couldn’t make it because Arthur was working late tonight, so she sent word to Bill and Fleur and Bill came. Teddy’s been asleep though. Through all of it.”

“OK,” Harry nodded, as he reached out and squeezed Neville’s hand. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

As Neville left the room, the Healer tapped Harry’s forehead with her wand. Harry only heard the first part of the spell, “ _Somno..._.” and he was out.

It wasn’t exactly a dream that Harry was having, but during his enchanted sleep, which felt like only five minutes, he kept seeing the picture of Neville’s parents holding baby Neville. This was the same picture Neville had in his quarters at Hogwarts, and Harry couldn’t figure out why this was what he kept visualizing.

As he slowly came to, he opened his eyes a little. Everything was blurry, but he squinted and looked next to him. Neville was asleep in a visitor’s chair his chin falling to his chest. Harry pushed himself up to a sitting position and grabbed his glasses from the bedside table. Neville stirred and woke up, “Harry?” he asked.

“What time is it?” Harry asked.

Neville took out his pocket watch and glanced at it, “Just after two in the morning. How’s your knee?”

Harry moved his legs experimentally and was happy to feel his right leg moving freely. “It’s stiff, but not painful anymore.” He looked under the covers, “And the swelling is gone.”

Neville leaned over and took Harry’s hand, “I’m glad you’re all right,” he said, stroking Harry’s hand with his thumb.

“Did you want me to quit the Aurors office because of your parents?” Harry asked suddenly.

“What?”

“Your parents were Aurors. And because of that you didn’t have parents growing up. Is that why you wanted me to quit? Because we have Teddy now?”

Neville stilled, his thumb no longer stroking the same spot on Harry’s hand, “I hadn’t thought of it that way. But now you mention it, maybe that is what I was acting on.” When Harry didn’t say anything, Neville continued, “You don’t have to quit,” he assured Harry. “I can get used to the worry.”

“Good, because I don’t want to quit.” Neville nodded in understanding. Harry continued, “I’m good at this job, you know? I have good instincts for it. I knew to trust Draco to help us out. I knew to keep a hold of Skeeter when she tried to disapparate. It sucked - this whole investigation sucked. But it was worth it to get Skeeter in the end.”

“I just want you to be happy and fulfilled,” Neville said. “If you need to be an Auror, I can live with that.”

“Even though it’s dangerous?”

“Even though it’s dangerous.” Neville assured him, lifting Harry’s hand to kiss it.

The door opened and the Healer walked in. Neville started to pull his hand away quickly, but Harry held on tightly. “How are you feeling Mr. Potter?” the Healer asked, glancing only briefly at the connection of their hands.

“Good,” Harry said. “I can move my knee.”

The Healer pulled the covers down and poked at Harry’s knee a little, bending his leg. “This doesn’t hurt?”

“No,” Harry answered. “It feels fine.”

“Good,” she said, covering his legs back up. “You’ll be able to leave in the morning. Why don’t you get some rest.” She turned to Neville, “You’re welcome to stay overnight. These chairs transform into beds,” she tapped the chair once with her wand, and it magically transformed into a bed. “Good evening, gentlemen.” She swept out of the room quietly.

“Thanks,” Neville said to her as the door swung close. He looked at Harry, “Bill said he could stay to watch Teddy overnight.”

“Good,” Harry said. “I hate falling asleep without you near me.”

Neville climbed into the newly transformed bed and reached over to grab Harry’s hand. Harry said quietly, “You had Ron protect me.”

“I know,” Neville said. “I’m sorry if that made you feel weird.”

Harry shrugged, but as the lights had been extinguished, Neville couldn’t see. “He saw Skeeter first,” Harry explained, “And he shoved me against the wall and stood in front of me, blocking me from her view.”

“He probably would have done that whether or not I’d asked,” Neville explained.

“You think?”

Neville propped himself up on one elbow and looked over at Harry, barely able to make his figure out in the dark. “Ron Weasley loves you,” he said to Harry.

“What?” Harry laughed a little bit.

“I don’t mean he’s in love with you. Not like we’re in love or the way he’s in love with Hermione. But he loves you. Probably more than he loves any of his brothers, more than he loves Ginny.”

“But they’re his family,” Harry pointed out.

“They’re the family he was born with,” Neville said. “He loves you the way you love someone you choose as family. When he contacted Hermione about you disappearing with Skeeter tonight, he was sobbing. Hermione called me and asked me to get to the Ministry as soon as possible, because Ron was falling apart. Turns out you got back before I could get there. But I’m just telling you, Ron loves you and would have been willing to take a curse to the back if it meant shielding you from harm.”

“I’d do it for him too,” Harry admitted. “I’d do it for you, or Hermione, or Teddy.”

“It’s the family we choose,” Neville said with a yawn, lying back down.

“The family we choose,” Harry said quietly to himself. He got quiet for a few moments. “Hey, Nev?”

“Yeah?” Neville asked.

“I want to take in Colleen Murphy and her baby.”

“What about the house?” Neville asked.

“We could break the fidelius charm,” Harry began. “Or we could move.”

“Move where?” Neville asked, sitting back up and flicking the light on with his wand.

“Anywhere,” Harry said. “Grimmauld Place is a fine house. But it’s a Black family house, and I hate Mrs. Black being on the wall, and I hate that damn family tree with Sirius’ name burnt off. It’s full of Black memories and I want someplace to make my own memories. Someplace where the ghosts aren’t all over the walls with a permanent sticking charm.”

Neville was beginning to smile, “Someplace with a garden?” he asked.

“With a garden,” Harry promised. “Maybe some room for me to fly around a little. Maybe a nice wide open house with few stairs so Andromeda can live with us if she wants. And someplace with electricity to Colleen can use it.”

Neville began thinking. “I think we could do it,” he said nodding. “I think we _should_ do it.”


	18. Epilogue

****

**Epilogue**

Ten Years Later

****

“Mum,” Kevin asked in a scared voice, “Can’t you come see me to the train?”

“You know I can’t,” Colleen answered, “I can’t get to the Hogwarts Express platform. I’m going to stay on this side with Grandma Tonks and you go with Daddy Harry and Daddy Neville.”

Kevin hugged his mother hard, “I’ll write every day.” He promised. Then he turned to Andromeda smiling at him from her wheelchair, “Bye Grandma Tonks.”

Andromeda hugged him back, “Don’t forget to write and let us know where you were sorted,” she said kindly.

“Ready?” Harry asked, taking the boy’s hand.

Kevin took a deep breath, “Yes,” he said with determination.

Neville went first, pushing the trolley containing Kevin’s and Teddy’s school things. Then Teddy followed, then Harry with Kevin.

As they got through the other side, Kevin began wiggling with excitement. He’d been coming to watch Teddy off for the past five years, and now it was finally his turn to go. “Teddy,” he said, pulling on Teddy’s arm, “I want to be in Gryffindor with you! And with Daddy Neville as my Head of House!”

Teddy looked up and made eye contact with Harry and they both smiled. Kevin would not be in Gryffindor. Harry had rarely met a boy so cautious and skeptical of trying new things. Harry had never seen a child with such a pure Hufflepuff heart. It was often a topic of conversation when Kevin was in bed. Harry had even had to tell Teddy to lay off the Hufflepuff jokes, he was so sure that’s where Kevin was headed.

“Kev,” Teddy knelt down next to the boy. “All of the houses are good. Your Aunt was in Hufflepuff and so was my mum. Victoire is in Ravenclaw. They’re all good houses.”

“What if I’m in Slytherin?”

Harry almost laughed. As much as Kevin wasn’t a Gryffindor, he was even less a Slytherin. Now Harry knelt next to Teddy and talked to Kevin, “Grandma Tonks was a Slytherin, and so was Severus Snape, and he was one of the bravest wizards I've ever known. If you’re in Slytherin, then Slytherin House will have gained an excellent wizard,” he explained. “The sorting hat knows where you belong. Trust the hat,” he said.

Kevin gave Harry one last squeeze, then hugged Neville hard. “I’ll let you know where I’m sorted,” he said to both of them.

“I’ll be there,” Neville reminded him, “watching the whole thing from the staff table.”

Kevin smiled, “Oh yeah,” he giggled. “If I find friends and don’t have time to write, maybe you should let Mommy and Daddy Harry and Grandma Tonks know where I’m sorted.” Harry noticed Kevin side-eyeing another first year boy who looked somewhat frightened.

“Go ahead,” Harry urged. “Find a spot on the train. Did I tell you I met Uncle Ron, Aunt Hermione and Daddy my first time on the Hogwarts Express?”

“Did you?” Kevin asked, his bright blue eyes shining. “I wish Rosie was starting this year.”

“She’ll be here next year with you. And she’ll be looking to you for help. But you can make your best friends ever on the train,” Harry insisted.

“OK, Bye! I love you guys!” Kevin called as he ran toward the train, following the scared looking boy he’d been looking at.

Harry turned to Teddy and said, in a begging voice, “ _Behave_ this year.”

Teddy gave an impish smile, “If you’d let me take your invisibility cloak, I wouldn’t get caught so much,” he said slyly.

Harry guffawed, “If you think getting caught in the Ravenclaw girl’s dorm is a way to earn the trust of the invisibility cloak, you’re sadly mistaken. Seriously though, _behave_. I don’t want nearly as many owls from the Headmistress as I had last year.”

“It makes me look bad, Teddy,” Neville pointed out.

“Right,” Harry agreed. “What does is say when the child of an Auror and a Hogwarts Professor loses more points for his house than any other student?”

“No promises,” Teddy called, laughing a little, as he headed toward the train.”Love you guys!” he turned and ran at a full sprint, “Victoire! Wait for me!”

Harry and Neville hung back a little, and held hands while the last straggling students got on board. “They’ll be fine,” Neville assured Harry.

“Kevin will be,” Harry said. “Teddy’s behavior is....” he drifted off.

“Not much better than yours was at that age?” Neville asked.

Harry smiled. “Have a good first day back at Hogwarts.”

“I will,” Neville said. “It’ll be a good year, having both of the boys in class. It’ll be fun.”

Harry laughed, “If you say so.” He leaned in and gave Neville a quick peck. “I’m going back to take Colleen and Andromeda home. Then off to the office. I’ll see you tonight?”

“Tonight,” Neville gave Harry’s hand a quick squeeze.

_____

****

That evening, Neville got home late, well after Harry, Andromeda and Colleen had finished dinner. “He’s in Gryffindor,” he said as soon as he walked in.

“ _What_?” they all gasped at the same time.

“Gryffindor. Kevin is in _Gryffindor_ ,” Neville said looking bewildered, as though he couldn’t quite believe the words coming out of his mouth.

“How?” Harry asked.

Neville shrugged, “Maybe the hat saw something in him the rest of us haven’t?”

Colleen put her hand to her forehead. “Does this mean he’s going to be as big a trouble-maker as Teddy?”

Harry and Neville glanced at each other. Ever since Colleen had begun dating Percy Weasley the previous year when she’d finished University, she’d been on Teddy’s and Kevin’s cases more and more about following rules and order.

“Not all Gryffindors are rule-breakers,” Harry said.

“Like me,” Neville said.

“Right,” Harry agreed, “Like Neville, and like Teddy’s dad, Remus.”

“And that’s about it. In the entire history of Gryffindor House.” Andromeda quipped.

They all laughed, and Harry reached over and massaged Colleen’s quickly slumping shoulders. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Everything will be fine.”

Colleen nodded, looking relieved by her family’s attempts to ease her worries. Because that’s what they had made. Harry and Neville had taken in people who needed it, learned to love them and created their own family. A family they chose. 

 


End file.
